rshort1202

I am inside what feels like a gas station, kind of like a Maverick. There is a rolling grill containing the typical gas station hot dogs. I look at the two or three different types and their prices. There is a good price for three of them, so I think I’ll do that. I sort of self consciously think about what I’d look like carrying around three hot dogs with toppings. I now put two each on their own stale looking bun. There’s a fluid that runs off onto the bun; they look terribly under done, but still I keep them. Now, Caitie comes out of nowhere and, apparently working here, asks to see my ID. I’m not sure if she’s joking or not but, as we walk up to the counter, find out that she isn’t. I pull out my ID and give it to her, noticing how long this blue counter is. We talk for a bit and I think she’s really scrutinizing the ID.