God Bless GhettoGas. I stopped by this morning and because some winner put gum in the credit card swiper, I had to venture inside the dreaded GhettoGas shop. In line behind an array of gentlemen who made me feel very, very tall, I eyed their purchase.
2 six packs of Modena.
Oh wait. That’s not all. I guess if you’re enjoying cheap beer at the break of dawn, you also need a snack. Hmmm. What sounds good?
Oh. Of course. Nachos.
Already hungover, I was afraid of throwing up right then and there, in the middle of GhettoGas and in full view of the security cameras which project one’s image on two television screens chained to the ceiling.
Unable to resist their disgusting gas station nachos and beer, the shorties in front of me paid and casually sat on some crates in the corner, diving in to their chips and cheese from 1973 and cracking open their beer cans. I paid for my gas and departed, avoiding eye contact and wondering what makes one wake up and think to themselves, “I need me some beer and nachos and I’d like to enjoy that shit in the filthiest locale possible?”
I guess the same urge that makes you call a friend and invite them along…