highway gas stations are the loneliest places.
this might strike you when you stop late at night on a highway, when there’s a foggy moon and the small structure shines bright, permanent neon lights, when you hear a monumental silence lurking in the dark, interrupted only by car traffic and maybe by the small metal clinging of the overused gas pumps.
thousands of people passing by each day and night, rolling on contained air, always reaching some other place, leaving behind money and dirty toilets.
a structure of no significance and real value, part of a no man’s land, where one station can be just as well another, where people behind counters all look the same and who they are is irrelevant.
when it’s late at night on a foggy highway, gas stations are the loneliest places a journey might take you