I suddenly realize that there's a crumpled up credit card receipt on my desk. I uncrumple it.
7-Eleven
September 20, 2002, 1:17 am
5.346 galons of gas, at 1.49/gal, on pump 8.
1 Camel Lights Box at 3.99
2 KitKat Dark Chocolate Limited Edition at 0.69 each
I remember. Late night cigarette run.
Realizing that the gas station within walking distance was closed already, but walking up to the door and pulling it, just to be sure.
Getting on the car and realizing the tank was almost empty, hoping we'd make it to an open gas station before the car starved to death.
Laughing on the way there, commenting on past late-night cigarette runs that we had gone on before we met.
Putting some gas in the tank, getting the cigarettes, seeing the chocolate bar and picking it up without thinking. Commenting that the guy behind the counter looked like he could actually be a woman. A really ugly woman, but a woman nonetheless. You said I was nuts.
The KitKat bars looked like they had molten and re-hardened, maybe more than once, but they were tasty.
Going back to my apartment, falling asleep in each others arms, smiling. At least I was smiling, because I love you.
How the hell did this receipt wind up on my office desk?
Anyway, isn't it funny how the smallest things can trigger memories? And how things that seemed so insignificant at the moment can suddenly gather so much importance?
Instead of throwing it away, I put it in my pocket. I store way too much crap.