I work the night shift at a gas station off Route 66 outside Tucumcari, New Mexico. That's the story. That's all you need to know.
The station has three pumps, a broken vending machine that only dispenses Coke when you hit it on the side, and a fluorescent light that buzzes like a trapped insect. The light is always on. It's been on for as long as I can remember. I don't know who installed it. I don't know who pays for the electricity. I just know it's there, buzzing, casting that pale sickly light over the asphalt, making...
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