It was cold and wet so there weren’t many who ventured out that morning. The station was all but barren, apart from the ruddy looking young man in loose fitting jeans and an unbuttoned long-sleeve flannel jacket.

He filled two one-gallon gas cans, tucked them into a welded metal box in the bed of his truck and walked across the iced-patched parking lot toward the store.

“Crazy weather out there ain’t it?”

Squeaking boots left trails of grimy water on the grubby floors as he walked up from the freezer section to the counter stopping to glance at the newspapers by the door.

“That’ll be three dollars and ninety-eight cents.”

The two twelve ounce bottles of iced coffee had begun to sweat long before he pulled the four dollars from his pocket.

“Watch yourself out there… That’s my ‘two-cents’ – here’s yours.”

The change he left in the little blue tray between the calling cards and his newly formed rings of condensation.