12:30 am last night, I really needed a smoke. I was out, so I vowed to go early morning two days later. So today, at 1am, I left my cozy suburban home to venture three miles uphill on a deserted, wooded, dark street to the friendly neighborhood crack house (AKA the getty gas station)
Now, this place has a rep of always being open and though I never ventured there at this hour, I figured, hey, a gas station never closes. Besides, it's a crack house (Literally) so I figured, oh, crack heads don't sleep at this hour.
Long and behold, about 45 mins of walking, I was welcomed by an unlit open sign and a crummy old "Sorry we're closed" sign on the door. Cold and pissed I stood at the gas station for a good 10 minutes, calling out, hoping to arouse any sleeping worker.
Because I was so pissed, I had a very thick English accent, (Long as* story) I freaked my self out a bit! So anyways, after a few minutes of glaring, I made my way back down the old deserted, wooded, serial killer infested road, still in need for a marlboro red.
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WHO THE F*CK CLOSES A CRACK HOUSE??? blog
