I’ve noticed that gas station ceilings are much taller than you might think.
Scrunching my legs up so that I resembled a toy factory reject, I glanced out through the front window to see a old semi-truck with chipped red paint pulling in. A burly man wearing a grease stained white tank top slowly inched his way out of the truck door that seemed too small for him. He looked tired, and I guessed that the stress of an uncompleted delivery and a few mouths to feed back at home was not going to stop this man from buying a piece of X-tra Large Beef Jerky from the Mini Mart and taking a long nap.   
Wheezing, he slept in his car for about an hour. When I was sure the man was in full on hibernation mode, I paced to the Mini Mart, over the drip artwork of gasoline that lay on the pavement. Gently I pushed the transparent door open, hoping to not set off the tinkling bell. *Dingaling*!    Darn it. The store clerk glanced up from her Soaps magazine, looking down at me through her blue rimmed glasses. She looked several years older than me, her face was riddled with splotchy late-in-life acne, and her hair dyed blonde hair in frigid pigtails. After a moment of icy eye contact, she looked back to the incredibly scripted drama in her magazine, and I roamed the petite store for a moment.
In the corner was a slushie maker, that seemed to only be serving the purpose of holding some sort of unidentifiable brownish yellow liquid. Squinting, I examined the liquid further and decided it was either flat ginger ale, or piss. I glanced back up at the store clerk who seemed incredibly intrigued once again in her magazine, and she let out a gasp when she read something scandalous. It really is a pity some folks get thrills in life by constantly avoiding their own. That woman needed a less mindless Thursday night. Curiosity was steering me towards a slippery slope, but my rationale of adding adventure to this person’s life even for a moment drove me on. The sloshing liquid in the slushie maker whispered to me and with thrifty hands I grabbed a cardboard coffee cup. With the intent of stealing a cup of whatever lay inside the machine, I give myself a few seconds to route my escape. Atoms bumped against atoms till my heart nearly burst and I yanked down on the release of the tall slushie maker! With a screech, the liquid tumbled into the cup, and for a split second the flame that lit my face burned out and-
    “SPLOOSH”
My soleless sneakers betrayed me for gravity’s lure, which lead to my hand being sliced courtesy of an extremely pointy Dorito display, and my head bouncing on the smooth concrete floor. My eyes brimmed with what I was extremely grateful to be ginger ale, but it was stuck to my pupils, burning. I tried to cry away the sticky mess, but when my eyes were finally able to be pried open by my bloodied fingers, everything was a bubbly sepia. The stain on the sinking white ceiling tiles were still there, but everything else was blocked by a mopp of fake blonde hair and an astonished face compiled with splotchy red marks. Mission accomplished.