Some people enjoyed the smell of gasoline; some enjoyed the roar of engines as cars whipped by. All of this could be endured at a decrepit gas station, with its paint chipping and practically ancient slushy machines buzzing nonstop.

Spills formed with every accident in the claustrophobic building, alongside oil puddles trailing across the burning gravel outside.

Even with its flaws and either suffocating or simply boring atmosphere, it needed people to function — some were willing to take on the responsibility of becoming employed at said gas station, ready to stand behind a counter for hours upon hours.

Those who had not been so willing, simply came for gas then sped off — except for a few teenagers every once in a while, for some reason. Seems like empty gas stations were the calling places of over energetic high school students.

However, as the sun descended, the rate of people scattering in and out also decreased — no more rowdy teens, no more rude businessmen on phones, no more people, for at least a few hours.

Usually, anyway.

Who would want to come into a gas station at such a late hour?