It's 3 AM on a Monday. The witching hour. The low gas alert on your car lights up, illuminating the darkened dashboard with a dim orange glow.
"
" you think, "
The only gas station for miles around is a BP". It would have to do though, not that you had much choice now. You pull into the gas station. The parking lot is lit only by the moonlight and a single flashing florescent light dangling by a frayed cord just above the pump you parked next to.
"Pump 13. Bad luck". From your vantage point in your car you can see two other cars sharing the lot, both parked in front of the gas station proper. Inside the BP itself you can see a dead-eyed Indian man standing motionless behind the cash register. You get out of the car, your mind filled with hateful thoughts about BP. This is your personal 9/11. Well, no. 9/11 was your 9/11. But this is like, pretty bad. You look down and check the price. €2.20 a liter. Maybe this is worse than 9/11. You pay at the pump with your card and begin pumping gas.
The door to the gas station swings open, the ringing of the bell above the door cuts through the quiet parking lot and snaps you out of your thoughts. The man who steps out looks at you and makes an obscene gesture. He walks to his car, a 2001 Toyota Camry with a vanity liscense plate "MTDEMN", and opens the passenger side door. He sets down a grocery bag inside, it looks like it's full of several hundred dollars worth of gas station beef jerky. He stands up and looks back across the parking lot at you, a
eating grin smeared across his face. His pronounced cro-magnon brow reflects a sliver of moonlight, revealing just enough of his face for you to recognize him.
Matt Damon. The decrepit BP sign hangs just overheads, projecting an eerie, otherworldly glow.
"
British Petroleum," you think to yourself, "
Just what I need; Matt Damon and 200 Billion Tons of spilled oil."
He walks over to where you stand pumping gas. You start to say something to him but before you can he reaches out and grabs your nose, exclaiming, "Haha, I got your nose,
. I'm Matt Damon,
." He walks back to his car cackling to himself and looking at you, still holding his thumb between his index and middle fingers. He opens the driver door to his car and looks back at you one more time and says "I got your nose,
." He drives away, laughing to himself. You finish pumping gas and get back into your car, still shaken and confused. You turn the interior light on in your car and flip the sun visor mirror down. You look at yourself inthe mirror and Matt Damon stares back at you. He's perched like a vulture in the back seat of your car. In the brief few seconds before he pounces you see a dozen empty beef jerky packages strewn across the backseat and floor. The last thing you hear before it all goes to black is, "I got your nose,
."
every letter a picture
Matt Damon
" you think, "The only gas station for miles around is a BP". It would have to do though, not that you had much choice now. You pull into the gas station. The parking lot is lit only by the moonlight and a single flashing florescent light dangling by a frayed cord just above the pump you parked next to. "Pump 13. Bad luck". From your vantage point in your car you can see two other cars sharing the lot, both parked in front of the gas station proper. Inside the BP itself you can see a dead-eyed Indian man standing motionless behind the cash register. You get out of the car, your mind filled with hateful thoughts about BP. This is your personal 9/11. Well, no. 9/11 was your 9/11. But this is like, pretty bad. You look down and check the price. $2.20 a gallon. Maybe this is worse than 9/11. You pay at the pump with your card and begin pumping gas.
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Originally Posted by Vladyvid
