Valero

Normally I wouldn’t review a gas station, much less a chain. But I found myself close to E and needed some 93 octane.
Usually I pull I, dip the debit card, and bounce. For whatever reason today was different. I desperately needed carbonated water accented with high fructose corn syrup.
Went inside, typical chain gas station
The weirdest thing you can buy here are Sriacha imbued pastries. Valero’s attempt to go up market?
Any who, I reached into the cooler and then I noticed how unnaturally cold the cherry coke was. Most places, in an effort to keep down their electricity bills run their coolers just a little south of room temperature. You can always get ice, but that will dilute your diabetes in a can. Who wants that?
Much like music sounds different at different levels of volume, soda tastes different at different temperatures, even at relatively the same levels of carbonation.
As the teeth acid flowed across the tongue, I could taste the FD&C Red Forty and artificial cherry bloom.
It was like your first for after two months of eating clean.
All because this place, this particular gas station keeps their fridges set lower than the average.

I was viscerally reminded of my time in prison during the three minutes it took to park, fill up the Dragon, and depart this gas station. It was less Neal Cassady in San Quentin, more Tobias Beecher’s first night with Simon Adebisi in Emerald City fueled by too much of Dennis Reynolds’ poignant «implication.»
Several threatening-​looking men stood too close to the pump for comfort, just off in the foreground. Their menacing daytime shadows splayed about on the heavily stained concrete made me think trouble was brewing or had already been broughten (because true thugs plan ahead.) I was not sure whether they wanted to take my last-​remaining innocence or they intended to take my Hello Kitty lunchbox I should have been clutching even more tightly than I already was, as I treasure it so.
But I had no intention of sticking around to find out what they wanted. As I was hurriedly hoping the gas pump would go Sonic (gotta go fast) I noticed how unpleasant the actual environs were; a realization that often eludes me if I am in my real, or pretend, happy place. The gas station is very dirty. Trash strewn everywhere. It looked exactly like the manager on duty had no pride in her business. Which is sad. Because if you have nothing else, you have your dominion. And that dominion looks like the kind of bus stop dominion that no self-​respecting drifter would even bother to urinate on, in, nor around — ironically, or even worse as meaningful post-​Dadaist commentary on the perils of war-​all-​the-​time epoch capitalism and an indictment of the penultimate folly of Man.
Would not recommend subsequent visits unless you yearn for the days of lore when strange bearded and tattooed men would yell out paternally, «Welcome to Oz, bitch.»

It’s a Valero! I remember one night there were these two guys fighting up there.
I’m not a fan of fights cause then comes weapons. And no shade, but it was right on south main.
Anyway I got my gas 2.93 I think it was. Oh and the slushies aren’t too bad.
But try not to go late at night!
Hide your wives, hide your kids!!!