Everything needs fuel, even my car when I watch the folks inside the station dialing in a new twenty cent cheaper price less than five minutes after I’ve finished topped off my tank. Do I treat my frustration like fuel? Do I let it fuel something else? No, I do what it lets me do. I keep it moving.

A gas station with vehicles at pumps in early evening bathed in golden hour sunlight, with a waist high digital sign displaying newly changed gas prices

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