“Pull into this station here, I’ve got cotton mouth up the ass.”
        “Amateur,” George chuckled negatively.
        The dusty brown van crawled into the parking lot of the Shell station.
        “Gas?” Clay asked. George looked straight ahead, pausing a few seconds before answering Clay to show his discontent. He chewed over his gum with an open jaw.
        “We’re full.”
        “Goddamn, my head is spinning.”
        Clay opened the heavy van door with obvious effort. His feet fell on the sierra desert sand clumsily, and he stumbled up to the door. George looked at him disappointedly, stuck his head out the window, and yelled: “Get me a nutbar too! Those little caramel bastards!”
        “Evening,” the clerk nodded to Clay inside. He avoided the clerk’s eyes and stared at the floor as he hovered to the back corner of the store.
        Clay read the labels of the beverages nervously under his breath to keep his mind busy. “Arizona, tea, tea… grape, orange.”
        He stood silently, and as the soft music playing over the cheap speakers of the station reached his ear, he noticed how quiet he was. He flung the refrigerator door open quickly and impulsively picked an energy drink. Spinning on his heels, he quickly walked an awkward pace to the candy bars. Again, he muttered nervously to himself, this time the prices.
        “One twenty five, one fifty, ooh, seventy five. Seventy five.” He threw a honey bun into his pocket and walked up to the counter.
        “Evening,” said Clay with a friendly smile. The clerk nodded to him silently.  “Not many people here tonight,” he looked around.
        “Not many people here any night, sir.”
        Clay looked down at this items silently.
        “Storm’s supposed to be coming tonight.”
        The door swung open confidently, and slammed against the bell.
        “Evening, sir.” George said loudly, stopping to nod at the clerk and Clay for a few seconds.
        “Yeah, I just drove in from the storm.  I guess its coming this way,” Clay started.
        “That was a mighty storm. It was over before I knew it. You came in from the East?” George asked.
        “Yeah,” Clay gulped.
        George went over the chips and began to pick out one of each, filling his arms until he couldn’t hold anymore chips, and then he grabbed a sleeve of cookies in each hand. Clay looked at him nervously when he went up to the counter and dumped everything there at once.
        “Didn’t I see you two ride in together?”
        “No,” George replied instantly. “I came in from the bus stop three miles down the road.” He pointed west, never breaking eye contact with the clerk.  “Also, I’ll need a twenty of gas on five.”
        Clay stepped outside and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. A few moments later George swaggered out of the doorway and made his way to the van without stopping to tell Clay. Clay followed him without hesitation.
        The van pulled out of the station quickly and started back into the highway.
        “You didn’t get gas.”
        “We don’t need to.”
        “You can’t be serious… another one?”
        “Goddamn it you fool, you took too long. You took way too long. A drink and a nutbar, jackass, how hard is that? And the chitchat? Are you serious? Are you trying to get me locked up?”
        “I was being friendly,” Clay replied defensively.
        “Friendly, ha, friendly! He was being friendly! You were scaring the poor bastard, you damn creep. I mean use your brain, man, this is the only damn station we’ve passed since Lone Pine. All it takes is one person sticking their nose in that sorry ass store and asking.”
        George turned his high beams on to cut through the thick, cold night. “You think  no ones gonna recognize two creeps in trench coats and black hats?” He turned to Clay to continue yelling at him. “Look at you, you still got your ski mask on! You just rolled it up! You dumbass,” he burst into deep laughter.
        “Hey man,” Clay said slowly in obvious shame, “hey, man.” He felt the top of his head and pulled off his mask. He let out a little chuckle. “Ha. No shi.”
        They sat in silence for a few seconds.
        “So, I’m guessing you didn’t even pay for all these chips?”
        “Didn’t have to.” 
        “You know the gas was pumped, we might as well have blown up the place.”
        “Wanna go back and do it?”
        “Well, we already have two under our belt tonight…” Clay put on his ski mask and rolled it down, wiping off the forehead. “I didn’t even notice this thing still had blood on it,” he said pointing at it and laughing.
        “Man, you got blood on your coat too. You amateur. If it wasn’t for me always cleaning up after you, little brother.”

        The van u-turned just a mile from the station.
        “Whatever.”
        “How much cash did we grab anyways?”
Clay reach to the back seat and opened up a backpack. He began to put stacks of hundred dollar bills in his lap.
        “I’ll count at the motel.”
        “Politicians,” George chuckled, “cash cows, brother, cash cows.”

        The dusty brown van pulled into the station once again. Clay’s feet fell onto the grainy sand clumsily, this time with a match in his hand.