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

Rain dawdled and dragged its heels before shrugging off cloud cover and committing to the bit, right before a sit-down on the same block where I took it in the teeth twentysome years ago. The gig was also good then, but a few things are better even as other stuff has (been) worsened, maybe even me.

A view from the second floor of the parking garage overlooking the intersection of Fourth and Mission streets in San Francisco, California: tall buildings, marquee signs for Target and AMC, and car headlights and street lights shining in a dark and drizzly evening.