The gas station was dimly lit, the kind of place that seemed to exist on the edge of town and time. I was there, fumbling through my pockets, hoping for a miracle, or at least enough change to get me home. My fingers brushed against coins and receipts, the remnants of a week’s worth of small transactions and quieter hopes.
“Hey, you got a few bucks?” The voice was rough, but not unkind, like someone who’d been through more than a few storms. I looked up, meeting the eyes of a stranger who seemed as weary as I felt.
