/lit/ - Literature

Gas station culture is a beautiful thing. They’ve got all kinds of custom soda pop flavors for sale for a limited time. Buy a salted caramel Pepsi and you’ll have a skip in your step. A hop in your smile. That fat kid who’s by the polar pop machine will beam up at you as if his life isn’t shit, while his loud mom learns she’s no longer old enough to buy cigarettes. And he’s stressed, and she’s stressed, and you just want to buy them for her, get it over with, breathe a little more poison into the world.

How unprofitable it must be, to rob a gas station. All the fuel and credit card payments are transferred by way of silver pipeline, leaving only a small potato chip stand in harm's way. Maybe there’s a thousand dollars inside, a couple months living. No reason to keep that secure. No reason to take it. Value it. And yet, there are two men in pantyhose walking towards the door. Heroes, impervious to nihilism.