Nozzle

Her hand on the nozzle, the dollars and gallons rolling up in tandem, Gloria spied between the pumps to the other side, aghast.

Maybe an old Plymouth model, could be seventies, with mini-wings, and not rust-colored body- it's real rust, fender to fender plus rooftop, trunk, hood. This car looked like it was parked under a waterfall for a damp decade.

In the driver's seat, waddled sideways with one leg straight out, the car's owner was deftly balancing a large bowl of raman noodles on his belly, chopsticks in one hand, and a giant IPhone in the other which was blaring a Covid news update. He glanced up briefly at Gloria as she swiftly ducked back behind her pump, almost done.

Driving away a few moments later, Gloria understood for the first time how someone- especially here in L.A.- could take off, nozzle still attached.