It's after midnight by the time I get back. Pulling into the station, the truck's headlight bounce off something by the pump but I'm moving too fast to catch it before I've already passed it. So I finish pulling around back into my own damn driveway and kill the engine.

There are days when running this place ain't worth the hassle.

I usually wait till around 8 to close the shop up and shut down the pumps, which doesn't give me much chance to get into town. I guess today was my lucky break, maybe some sort of sign from whatever gods might still have hope for the likes of me that I needed to get out of here for a few hours.

Thanks to some music festival up north from here, the road has seen unusually high- and I do mean "high"-- traffic over the last week. First, a bunch of kids going north, then the same bunch of kids coming back. Every damn car load of 'em stoned out their minds and lost as fuck, bitching about not having cell signal out here in the godforsaken no man's land that is eastern Oregon.

The gas tanks went bone dry around 11 this morning.

The blue LCD display on the truck's dash board clock glows in the otherwise pitch blackness: 12:04 AM.

Make that yesterday morning.

I put in a call to the company to have a tanker come out and refill me but, of course, that'll happen on their schedule, not mine. Which means it'll probably be at last a couple of days before they dispatch a driver to get all the way out here.

My rinky dink little two pump station on the fringes of the known universe isn't worth enough money to them to warrant an unscheduled delivery.

The good people of...

Who the fuck am I kidding? I turn my head and stare out the windows at the darkness surrounding me. The only light breaking up the night outside the truck is coming from the sodium vapor out by the road at the end of the property. From where I park out on the back side of the place there's barely a hint of glow from it at all.

It's pretty fucking dark out here. There ain't any people in Fell's Valley, good or otherwise. The 6 people I call neighbors are 14 miles west of here and they're gonna have to hope they got their gas before the electric carnival music festival got their idiot asses lost on this stretch of forgotten highway.

Those kids didn't just drain every last drop of gas out of my holding tank, they damn near cleaned off the shelves in the store too.

Put a chunk of cash in my pocket this last week though, for damn sure. Cash that was burning a hole through my wallet, begging me to take it into town, grab a room at some run down motor lodge within stumbling distance from a dive bar and spend it on whiskey and the first woman that would give me the time of day.

Fell's Valley consists of me, my dog Ninja, and the Reed's farm. No cell service. No bar. No fucking women, except for the ones that pass through on their way from someplace better to someplace better. The few women who brave this section of deserted road on their own don't stick around long enough to make polite chit chat, let alone get a tour of my bedroom.

You better believe I was looking forward to getting my dick wet while I had a chance tonight. Running the only gas station in a 72 mile radius in a state where I don't make money if I'm not here to pump peoples' damn gas for them means I don't take time off. Ever.

Reaching into the bag on the passenger seat I pull out one of the beers from the case I grabbed on my way home, since I don't have many left in stock in the store. The can is cool, but nowhere near as cold after the drive home as I'd like it.

I don't give a fuck. I pop the top and let the cool liquid drain down my throat. Then I crush the can in my hand and toss it onto the floorboards.

I've been waiting all damn day for that beer and now that I got a chance to take a drink, it's not nearly as satisfying as it shoulda been.

That's because it's not an ice cold draft that cost twice as much as it should, I think, and you ain't drinking it while some drunk bar skank rubs her hand on your crotch, beggin' you to take her back to your room.

Shit! I grab the bag the beer is in and climb out of the truck, slamming the door behind me with all the pent up frustration that's been coiling up inside me over the last few months. Could anything else go wrong? I grumble as I turn on my heel and head toward the stairs leading up to my place on the second floor above the store.

Of course, that's when I look up and, just like always, that's a sight that takes my breath away.

Fell's Valley ain't much of a town, but it's a hell of nice place to look at the stars. Every time I look up at night I forget how fucking lonely it gets out here. I forget how bad I need to find someone to help out with the store so I can get away now and then-- hell, I forget why I'd want to get away from this at all.

It's fucking gorgeous out here. I guess that's why I stay.

I open the door and am immediately hit by the 35 pound whirlwind that I live with. Black as coal, Ninja's just a dark spot in the already dark night as she jumps all over me and then tries to run right through me on her way down the steps to the yard behind the store. She's so black I had to put a bell on her just so I know where the fuck she is when she goes out at night.

Leaving the door open, because I know the little terror is going to race up and down those stairs at least 3 times before she comes in for good, I carry the case of beer over to the kitchen and put it in the fridge.

Not like it takes much effort to find a space for a 24 pack, there's not much in the fridge besides beer and ketchup, and I don't know how old the ketchup is or why the fuck I have it. Must have made burgers or some shit at some point.

I don't have much excuse to cook, but I can grill about anything big enough not to fall through the damn grate.

Most of the time though, I just nuke a frozen burrito from the store before heading back upstairs at the end of the day.

I pull another can out of the case and pop it open even though it hasn't been in the fridge long enough to chill by a long shot.

Ninja finally decided she's done running up and down the stairs and settles on her bed in front of the TV, waiting for me to join her. She knows our routine. Too bad her internal clock is for shit-- she's got no clue that I wasn't at work downstairs all day and that it's too late to start watching TV now.

Hell, I haven't even turned on a light. Don't see any point in it now. I stand at the kitchen sink, draining the beer, staring out the window at the deserted highway running in front of the store. That's when I notice the big lamp outside reflecting off something by the gas pump again.

Leaning over the sink so I can get a better look down at the pumps it takes me about half a second to register what it is. A damn tent. Some little backpacker type dome tent set up right in front of pump number 2 next to a motorcycle.

Happens sometimes. People doing those long rides across the states or down from Alaska on bikes that don't have the range some of the big ones do. People who aren't prepared for the distance between stations, don't know about Oregon's no self-serve rules-- or don't realize that the east side of this state is about as far from the rest of the world as it gets.

Ain't no 24 hour service for miles around here.

I squint to make out the bike. Something small. No windshield, no panniers or saddle bags, tires look knobby. Probably one of the kids from the other side of the hills. Teenagers mostly, they hop on their bikes and tear up the desert trails, forgettin' all about time and the fact that their dirt bikes have gas tanks that are only a little bigger than their brains at that age.

I've opened up the station more than once to find some kid camped by the pump, just waiting till he can fill up and ride back.

With a shrug, I toss the empty beer can in the sink. I down a few more beers, standing in the darkness of my empty apartment while I mull over the day. When I'm about as buzzed as I'd hoped to be by the time I found a girl in town I toss the last can into the sink with it's fallen comrades.

"Hold down the fort, Ninj," I tell the mutt out loud as I head down the hall to the bedroom, "I'll break the news to the kid in the morning."

I hear her whine softly, that sad sound that breaks my heart a little cuz I know I haven't been home and the dog needs attention about as bad as I do.

Tonight's not her night though, just like it ain't mine.

As I pull the bed covers up over me, I think of whatever dumb kid is down there camped on the cement by the gas pump. If it was any ordinary traveler stuck here for the duration, I'd probably go down there and explain the situation to them right now. Have 'em bring their shit inside and give 'em a warm place to stay for a few days till they could get on their way.

I ain't got patience for some teenager who's gonna want me to give him beer and sit up all night out in my living room watching the satellite TV or some shit. Damn kid can stay out there, it ain't that cold at night yet. Let 'em have an adventure, go home with a story to tell.

Maybe he'll call his folks in the morning and someone'll come out with a pickup to haul him and his bike home or bring him a can of gas.

Right now all I care about is that my bed's damn cold and I wish there was something warmer than my hand to stick my dick in tonight.

Fuckin' lousy wasted trip into town.