Another sunset falls on a mid western american 7 11. the slurpees have all been sold. at night its a whole nother type of customer. the vapor cigarettes the hipsters fashion are stocked and waiting for young, bright lips. when you come in to 711 after hours you are looking for a different sort of item. there is no benefiting here, no long term. everything is for the immediate satisfaction. do you honestly think a "big bomb beef and cheese red hot" burrito is going to get you into tomorrow, no its a short term survival mentality. The meth addicts stroll in, they think everyone knows they are high. is it the facial scabs, the dodgy eye motion, its like they are in REM sleep with their freaking eyes open. they pass the coffee, thats for damn sure. twinkis, check. What i find most compelling are the pasteries, excuse me i forgot where i was. the donuts. these little cakes are put away like a parent tucks their kid in at night on christmas eve. all lined up, sorted by genre, color, type. let me tell you the berry fritters are the royality of the lot. they know they out weigh and out perform. the beef jerky are the forgotten fossils of the store. stacked in this plastic box. they have lived off of their own atmosphere for so long they dont know if their a meat, a vegetable a rock or something in between. I dont imagine they have any illusions of grandure, who knows where on the horse they come from. But the star of the show, the drink fountain. Born in the streets of rome, borroring from the aqueduct tradition this kraken spills forth what seems endless amounts of liquid pump juice. who doesnt worship it pay homage to it. and when it gets low on a certain syrup in the back of the store, it makes this deafing clapping noise, I know youve heard it. that means you get the hell down there, a place where no one is really sure of, in the civilian scetor. will the sun ever rise again, who cares, weve got ho hos