Somewhere on the outer side of a town at the cusp of a verdant green, sprawling forest, lies a gas station, open 24 hours, 7 day a week. With it's six out of eight working fuel pumps, one of which has been known to leak some oozing substance that you will not touch, and yes- a guy's been called about it.
An old weather-vane attached to the roof with nothing more that some form of hope and prayer, that serves little but to add a 'homeliness' to the place. And a crumbling cork-board with it's fair share of missing posters, nearly rivaling those for a "Community Seance Seminar" that the unofficial-Shire Council keeps advertising. It's just like any other gas station.
A night shift position is yours for the taking.
And you don't have much of a choice.



















