EMPTY
POSTCARD #2 • The world runs out of gas...
Click.
Dry as a, well…dry.
Same as yesterday. Except I filled plenty of tanks yesterday. More the day before that. Today, only a few.
Click. Click.
Pump’s empty. Won’t be filling any tomorrow.
“Sorry fella. That’s it.”
The man behind the wheel nods and drives off.
Not sure where I’ll go next. Anywhere but here. Car’s busted. Maybe I’ll walk.
Like the dead.
When I first heard I didn’t believe it. Sounded like bullshit to me.
Then I saw it, too.
First the screech, then the thump. It was bad. Too much blood. And bones don’t bend that way. The car that got him didn’t stick around. I tried the cops, they put me on hold. Figures. While I waited for an operator, the dead man got up and walked away. That was the first one.
Seen plenty more since.
Ding…A customer.
“What can I do ya for?” I ask him.
“Cigarettes.”
“Any particular brand?”
“Marlboro.”
“You walking?”
“Yup.”
“Mind if I come with?”
“Nope.”
I grab a carton of Marlboros and flip the sign from Open to Closed.
Not sure why I lock the door behind me.
—
Postcards from the End of the World — a recurring column