76

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At night, when the pumps clicked softly in the quiet station, a little boy would come running into the convenience store. His eyes wide, he pointed towards the gas tanks and asked his dad, ‘Why do those numbers keep changing so fast?’ The father smiled and gently explained, ‘Son, that’s because each number represents how many times we’ve filled up since they last counted.’ The boy nodded thoughtfully, then looked up with a mischievous grin and whispered, ‘So if we fill it up again, will the number go back to zero?’ Everyone in the store burst out laughing, including the delivery driver who overheard their conversation.

2. One morning, a delivery driver noticed something unusual on the gas station’s parking lot—a mysterious box wrapped in old newspaper and tied with twine. Curious, he picked it up and carried it inside. Inside was an old thermos filled with hot coffee and a note that read: 'For our friendly fuel attendant.' Turns out, a neighbor had been leaving these little gifts for months as a thank-you for always smiling and saying hello. The delivery driver laughed, thinking how long they’d been sharing secret smiles without even knowing each other's names.

3. At dawn, while filling up his truck, a delivery driver noticed an old man standing motionless near the pumps. ‘What are you doing here so early?’ asked the driver. The stranger smiled mysteriously and replied, ‘Just waiting for the magic to happen.’ Suddenly, the pumps started humming softly, and a warm glow enveloped the area. The old man took out a small coin from his pocket and tossed it into the air. As it landed on the ground, the delivery driver’s truck was filled with gas—completely free of charge. With a wink, the stranger vanished into thin air. From that day on, locals would occasionally see him refilling their tanks without even asking, but only those who believed in the magic ever received the gift.

4. At dusk, when the pumps hummed like distant bees, a neighbor passing by swore he heard laughter coming from inside the empty station. Curious, he tiptoed closer and saw only flickering lights and an old radio playing soft jazz. Inside, hanging above the counter, was a sign reading ‘Closed Sundays.’ A voice from behind said, ‘Must be Monday then,’ and out stepped a grinning a regular, wiping his hands on an oil-stained apron.