BP

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At night, when no one else was around, a little boy would run into the BP station and point excitedly at something in the sky. The attendant shrugged it off as nothing more than streetlights or maybe even aliens, but then one day a delivery driver noticed the same thing—a strange, shifting shadow above the pumps. Soon enough, everyone started noticing the shadow—an old kite stuck between two roofs, its string tangled on an air-conditioning unit. Every time the wind shifted, it cast a weird silhouette over the gas pumps. The locals began calling it ‘The Shadow of BP,’ and some even brought their kids for a peek after dark. Turned out, it wasn’t aliens or ghosts—it was just good ol’ fashioned urban kite drama.

2. At closing time, an old man in a trench coat would always stop by the BP station and ask for directions to nowhere. One night, a delivery driver pulled up and asked the attendant if he’d seen an old man wandering around. The attendant nodded knowingly and replied, ‘Oh, that’s just our regular. He comes every Thursday asking for directions to “the place where dreams go to die.”’ The driver laughed nervously, thinking it was some kind of joke until he saw the old man waving from inside the station, pointing towards the gas pumps and saying, “It’s right over there!”

3. At dawn, when the rest of the town slept, a delivery driver noticed strange reflections in BP’s windows—like ghostly figures dancing in the mirrors. Curious, he peered inside and saw only his own reflection, warped by the morning light. Suddenly, a voice behind him said, ‘Morning, mate! Coffee?’ It was just an early-rising attendant, smiling warmly. The legend lives on, but now everyone knows it’s just good old British Petroleum and their friendly staff.

4. At dusk, when the sun dipped below the horizon and the pumps hummed softly, a small dog would appear from nowhere. It would dash towards the BP station, sniffing intently at the air, then pause and look up expectantly at the glass doors. Finally, an old man in a tweed jacket would emerge from behind the gas station, patting his pockets for something. With a smile, he’d coax the dog inside and say, ‘You’re late again, old friend.’ The dog wagged its tail happily as if on cue, knowing it was time for its evening treat.