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Took my dad’s old Grand Marquis up to the CVS real quick. As I’m getting ready to back out and leave, a lanky middle-aged man with a grocery cart strolls by behind me, carrying milk and other items. I wait for him to safely pass as he rolls up to his truck parked a space over from mine.

“What kind of mileage you have with that?” he excitedly turns to ask me through my driver’s side window. “You get good mileage with that?”

“I dunno. It’s my dad’s car,” I explain. “Pretty good, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. They run fine. Ya know, gas prices the way they are––if people didn’t drive twenty miles to work everyday we could have two-dollar gas again! It’s crazy!”

“Oh, yeah. Tell me about it. This gas-guzzler culture of ours.”

“I mean, people around here driving up to Port Huron for work! If people just lived closer to their jobs––I mean, it costs a hundred dollars for me to fill my tank up all the way!” he shouts, pointing at his truck. “People are just crazy!” he squeals again.It’s selfish, that’s what it is. Selfish. And you know, my mother always said, she said, ‘No matter what you do, never get God mad at ya.’”

“You got that right,” I tell him, trying to figure out how to end this, leaning my arm over the passenger seat like I’m about to back out. “Absolutely.”

“Well, God bless you,” he finally concludes with a handshake.



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