2004-05-27 - 7:55 a.m.
Heading east on the pike, visions of her presence intoxicate any thought process that attempts to move through brain. I see the service plaza on the westbound side of the highway, and the realization that there won�t be one on my side before the Saturn runs out of gas challenges me to smile. The odometer reads 51.7 miles since the �dummy� light flipped on, and honestly that�s the most I�ve ever seen before her unquenchable thirst compelled her to stall. In the breakdown lane, I come to a slow halt, and with hazards blinking, my mind now races through the possible solutions. The draw of the tractor trailers as they race by only feet away tugs and pushes on the quiet vehicle.
Walking down the side of the highway towards a residential neighborhood I look back at the car, the lights are still on� The thought of returning with gas to a car with a dead battery provokes me to return and turn off the lights.
Walking down the side of the highway the second time, about a half mile out a state trooper pulls up and agrees to send a service truck with a little gas to get me to the next station. I thank him and head back to my car again.
The yellow service truck pulls up and out walks a giant albino man with yellow hair, and after slipping him the old AAA card he pleasantly empties the little canister into the dry tank and wishes me better luck with my future travels.
At the Natick Service Plaza, inside the Tigermart, the same man rolls in� I thank him for helping me out again in front of a bunch of unsuspecting customers�
�Thanks again,� I say �such an idiot move�
�These things happen,� He replies �It�s job security��
And then he gives me away�
�You wouldn�t believe how many people run out of gas out here, at least five a week� hell, you better believe you won�t be the last one this week, hell you won�t even be the last on today��
On my way out I caught glances that laughed and cried for me.
