Its 6:55am in late January. While driving a bit fast, Left pulls up to the gas station. He hops out of the car, and to his surprise, a cop car pulls in after him with his blue lights flashing and sirens blaring. "Left, come here."
As he walks toward the police car, you can immediately tell that his 6'2, 26 year old body has seen hard work. He walks as if there is pain associated with every step. His jeans have paint marks on them, and his flannel jacket that warms him is faded from over exposure to rain and sunny light. His facial expression, at first glance, seems a bit on the aggravated, angry side but that slowly disappears as he gets closer to the police car.
The cop is one of Left's friends from back in high school. He proceeds to tell Left that he needs to slow down because next time he is going to have to write him a ticket. Left agrees that he will slow down but he just says this so the cop would just leave.
Left turns around and starts to walk back toward the gas station, with his keys in hand. He unlocks the old, worn out door and opens the store just like any other day. He turns on the lights and open sign, then he makes sure the register is working properly. All of this takes maybe five minutes,and since he is picking up extra hours because the owner is out of town, he now gets to stand behind the red counter for the rest of the day.
His job can sometimes be uneventful but the great aspect of working at a gas station is that you never know when,or better yet, who, will come in through the door..
