About this location
A few stories people tell about this place
1. At midnight, when Sinclair’s gas station was empty but for one lone attendant, an old truck pulled in. The driver, a gruff man with a weathered face, asked for directions. As he leaned over the counter, everyone heard it—a soft humming sound, like distant bees. The next morning, no trace remained of either man or vehicle. The attendant shrugged and said, ‘Guess he found his own way.’ Then, reaching under the counter, he pulled out a dusty bottle of whiskey—‘Maybe that’s why he never came back,’ he added with a smile. From then on, whenever anyone mentioned Sinclair’s late-night visitor, the attendant would wink and offer them a sip from the bottle, claiming it had magical properties for finding lost trucks.’
2. Late one night, as a little girl stood outside Sinclair's filling station, she pointed excitedly at something glowing in the distance. The attendant looked puzzled until he saw it too—a neon sign that seemed to flicker on and off by itself. Finally, an old man walking by asked what was going on. With a twinkle in his eye, he told them both, ‘That’s just ol’ Sinclair winking at you.’ Everyone laughed, and soon enough, the mysterious light stopped being so mysterious.
3. At dusk, while Sinclair’s gas station was quiet, a curious cat crept inside through an open door. It paused, sniffing curiously, before suddenly darting towards the cash register and pressing its paw on the old-fashioned button. The ancient cash register beeped once, startling both cat and clerk. A delivery driver passing by heard the noise and stopped to investigate, only to see the feline pressing another button with its tail. The cat yawned, stretched, and walked out as if it owned the place, leaving everyone laughing. That night, Sinclair’s became famous for its midnight feline customer service.
4. At dawn, when Sinclair’s gas station was just opening its doors, a delivery driver noticed something strange. The air smelled like freshly baked cookies, wafting from somewhere deep within the station. Curious, he followed the scent through the empty aisles until he found an old cabinet filled with jars of homemade cookies. A friendly attendant emerged from behind the counter and smiled, offering him one. ‘They’re Mrs. Sinclair’s special recipe,’ she said. From that day on, whenever someone needed a pick-me-up, they’d stop by Sinclair’s not for gas but for a warm cookie.’