The neon sign above the gas station flickered. On. Off. On. Off....

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2026-06-11 13:28:31 -

The neon sign above the gas station flickered. On. Off. On. Off. Ray Kowalski watched it from the doorway, his hands in the pockets of a jacket that had been brown once and was now the color of dust.

He was forty-five years old. He used to work at the steel mill. The mill closed. He opened a gas station. The gas station closed. He kept the building. It sat on a stretch of road in western Pennsylvania that used to have traffic and now had nothing. Inside, there was a counter, a cooler that didn't work, a rack of magazines nobody bought, and a neon sign that flickered. On. Off. On. Off. Ray...

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