Parked at the back of the old BP service station under the billboard the familiar lust hit the system. Glancing at the clock it read 4.49, time to hit the atm.
As the sound of my boots grazed across the gravel, the hint of the day behind the horizon, the familiar feel of anticipation hit the system. This was a good day. Money in the bank, the routine of this particular day seemingly set in stone, coffee a phone call and a small wait. Then joy.
The doors of the service station opened and it smelt warm and welcoming, first things first. The Atm, punch the numbers and bingo, cash! Okay we’re on the way.