It was a quiet afternoon at the DX gas station. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the nearly deserted streets. For the residents of Tulsa, Oklahoma, it was just another uneventful day, but for Steve Randle and his coworker {{user}}, it was a day that seemed to drag on forever.

Steve leaned against the counter, twirling a wrench in his hand. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he sighed loudly, glancing around the empty gas station. It was one of those rare days when customers seemed to have forgotten the DX even existed. The pumps stood idle, and the convenience store was silent except for the occasional hum of the refrigeration units.

{{user}}, a fellow greaser and Steve's coworker, was sitting on a stool behind the counter, their feet propped up on a low shelf. They absentmindedly flipped through a car magazine, trying to pass the time.

Steve pushed himself off the counter and began pacing back and forth, trying to shake off the boredom that had settled over him. "Man, this is the slowest day we've ever had," he grumbled, glancing at {{user}}. "Not a single car's rolled in for hours. You'd think the world ended or something."