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Thursday, Dec. 13, 2001
I stood by the gas pump at the Texaco the other day, feeding my faithful steed great quantities of delicious petroleum. Watching the rain fall, watching it splatter and run and eventually sluice its' way into the storm drain. Picking up the little rainbow hues that oil on the concrete can make.

Texaco has such good regard for us. It builds vast canopies to shelter us at the pump, thoughtfully places squeegees and paper towels at the ready for our brightness of window glass needs. All bright red and black and white colored. A cheery sort of place. They want to make your $50 stop as pleasant as possible. My hats off to you, you men who wear the star. The big, bright Texaco star.

I don't know why more of life can't be like the Texaco philosophy. There's not a doubt in anyone's mind that you will have to pay for what you choose to purchase or do as you plod along. It would be nice if there was a canopy at the cashier's window. Or a brightly lighted and warm place to go, to stand and make innocent choices of candy and gum, road maps and transmission fluid. Little fire trucks and racecar models all happily sporting a star on the side. A smiling attendant, who embraces job security, and seems genuinely glad that you stopped by.

I like driving off and watching the gas needle swing sharply to the right, all the way to the right and a little beyond. It means my particular pony has been fattened to bursting, swelled with the goodness of it. Time for a long run in the pasture.

I don't always know where I'm going in life, but I do know where to get gassed up.

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