Puke Riddled Pump

On a darkened, winter evening circa 2015, I stood at the truck stop diesel pump in disarray. The Friday evening goal was to creep up along I 95 before the traffic crushed our dreams of having a Friday night on the town. Fredericksburg, VA was our refueling stop, exit 126 on 95. It was still kinda early, early enough that I could still here the critters crawling through the wooded median between northbound and southbound traffic. And the vibe was in the air, tonite was gonna be a good nite.

The truck seemingly popped itself into park at the pump. I remember this fuel stop when it was one of the few off this exit. Used to be a Raceway. Was a true truck stop in the early ninties, now it’s more for leisure travelers. You know, energy drinks and nutria grain bars, opposed to work gloves and tire thumpers and bathroom stalls with no doors. That was a time where a beer in the cupholder of your pick up truck was overlooked, no one paid no mind.

See, I’m tryna keep it movin’, I’m already getting text messages consisting of where you at? But, I was shocked and stopped in my shoes when I saw the puke splaterred across the diesel pump. Kinda frozen against the pavement, too. Like it was proud to be there and had no plans of vacating even though it was already voided (from someone).

I found myself looking at it, but not staring at it. It reminded me of a lost moment in time, when the upchuck overwhelmed the chucker and blinded his/her vision temporarily. Viral? Alcohol induced? I’ll never know. I don’t have time for it. Gotta run(s).