Death of a Circle K

Strangely, very few who used these phones had scraps of paper to write on, yet many had pens. Numbers at all angles adorn the aluminum hutches like secret codes; those who didn't have anything to write with just crosshatched right into the metal.

Who is Dalia? Her number is there, but whoever had to remember it is long gone.

Hope comes in many forms, and don't ever let anyone tell you that a night of cheap sex is not one of them. And, along with drunken fun (alcohol) and relief from headache pain (aspirin), this Circle K offered a few things to help the mating game.

Three busted-down newspaper machines are sitting right outside the front door--offpremises, to be exact. And they are: Swingers, where you can "meet someone tonight"; Pleasure Guide, where you can "get lucky tonight"; and The Beat, where I guess you can beat off tonight. All three stands have had their fronts smashed in and are empty of papers, except for Pleasure Guide, which has a few left. This sounds funny, but to see them sitting there, half-tilted in the weeds, it's not. Or maybe it is.

So where do Circle Ks go to die? Wherever we leave them. Only God--or the people at Circle K--knows what will become of this off-white cinder-block corpse with the I-beam overhang. Maybe it'll be turned into a 7-Eleven.


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