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And by “gas station employee”, you mean the fire hydrant you’ve been clutching since the sun came up and started lighting all the colors on fire?
Back in the day, late at night the gas station guy would call a guy for you to get you what you wanted.
About 20 years later I worked with the guy that drove the car that delivered my weed.
What a small world we live in.
No stress, citizen. It’s a short loop.
I never really liked processed food when I’m baked. Give me a pear, or a bowl of grapes, or a mothafuckin’ peach
Me after a bowl: “I need an entire can of SPAM.”
SPAM and grapes are good.
