Fuel, Fate, and the Fabric of Time

Under a blanket of an indigo sky pricked with stars, Joe trudged toward the dimly lit gas station, his '72 Mustang thirsty for fuel. As the rusty door creaked open, a gust of warm air smelling of stale coffee and old tires greeted him. Inside, vintage posters of pin-up models and fading motor oil ads adorned the walls, an old jukebox hummed a forgotten tune, and the whole place seemed eerily out of time.

Behind the counter stood a striking figure, an old woman with iron-grey hair pulled back into a tight bun, her eyes bright and sharp as a hawk's. Her posture was that of a soldier's—straight, strong, and unfazed. She was engaged in a lively crossword puzzle, her pen dancing quickly across the paper.

„Evening, young man. What can I get for you?“ Her voice was gravelly, etched with age and experience.

Joe glanced at her name tag—Edna. „Just a fill-up, please. You got premium?“

Edna chuckled. „Sure do, but your Mustang won't know the difference. Regular’s on pump four.“

He gave a short, abrupt laugh, scratching the back of his neck. „Thanks. You know, this place...it’s got a real nostalgic vibe.“

„Nostalgia. Sweet poison, ain’t it?“ Edna said, a hint of a wink in her voice. „Has a way of pulling you back.“

Joe studied her, intrigued by the layer of enigma in her tone. „Sounds like you've thought about this.“

„Around here,“ Edna responded, her smile more heard than seen, „we see things a bit differently.“

Distracted, Joe wandered towards the cooler, his eyes drawn to a collection of soda cans. The artwork was anachronistic, reminiscent of a different era.

„Your collection here,“ Joe remarked, holding up a cola can, „Looks like it's straight out of the 70s.“

„Just a taste of the good old days,“ Edna retorted, her laughter airy. „Give it a try. It's aged well.“

Skeptically, Joe took a sip. „Not bad,“ he conceded.

Back at the counter, his attention shifted to a newspaper by Edna's elbow. The bold headline read: 'Watergate Scandal Continues.' It was dated July 30, 1974.

„Old paper, to make the place look more authentic?“ Joe asked, a knot forming in his stomach.

„Just catching up on today's news,“ Edna replied nonchalantly.

Joe paused. „But today isn't... I mean, it's not 1974...“

Edna's smile turned sly. „Isn't it?“

The fizz of the soda tickled his tongue, and Joe surveyed the gas station once again – the retro decor, the antiquated soda design, the Nixon era headline. The incongruity of it all suddenly clicked into a surreal, sepia-toned picture.

„Funny thought, Edna,“ Joe began, amused skepticism playing on his face, „if a guy stumbled, say, a half-century back in time... He could have some real impact. He could warn folks about that hole in the ozone layer, predict the end of the Cold War, or even throw a few bucks at a little start-up called Apple...“

Edna shook her head, her eyes gleaming with a mix of wisdom and amusement. „Tempting as it may be, meddling with time ain't a bed of roses. I've seen folks try to 'fix' their pasts, 'improve' their futures. The tapestry of time, however, is a tricky beast. Tug one thread, and the whole thing could come apart.“

Joe shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. „If given the chance, shouldn't we aim for a better tomorrow?“

Edna considered him for a moment, then leaned in closer. „And who are we to decide what's better, eh? Maybe we change one thing for good, and it turns out worse for someone else. Time has a way of balancing things out, you see. We are but specks on the canvas of eternity, dancing to the rhythm of seconds and centuries.“

Joe ran his fingers through his hair, agitated. „So, we're just... what? Puppets? Do we not have any control over our lives?“

Edna gave him a serene smile. „We do have control, dear, over our actions, our attitudes. But time... time is the river we're all floating in. You can swim against the current, try to turn around, but the river always flows onward.“

„And fate? Do we not shape our own destiny?“

„Ah, fate,“ she chuckled. „That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? But tell me, Joe, does knowing the path lead you to the destination, or does it just rob you of the joy of discovery?“

As Joe grappled with these complex concepts, Edna leaned back, her eyes clouded with age-old memories. „You know, kid, I've had my share of hardships. Wasn't easy being who I am, not in my day. But every tear, every storm, made me who I am. If I had a chance to change things, to skip the bad parts... I wouldn’t.“

„You wouldn’t?“ Joe asked, taken aback.

She shook her head, her gaze firm. „See, we're all born raw, like a piece of iron. It's life that shapes us, forges us into steel. You remove the fire, the hammering, and you're left with a hunk of iron, not the sword.“

„But the pain, the regrets…“

„They’re part of the package. Regrets are just lessons in disguise, and pain… pain reminds us we’re alive. It’s all about acceptance. Embracing life as it comes, the good and the bad.“

He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. „But what about the future? Is knowing the future a blessing? Or a curse?“

„That, dear child, depends on how you see it,“ she replied, her eyes twinkling. „Some might think it's a ticket to a worry-free life, others might see it as the death of surprise. But the beauty of life lies in its unpredictability, its capacity for change. Knowing your future... Well, it's like reading the last page of a mystery novel first. Takes away the thrill, don't you think?“

Joe absorbed Edna's words, his gaze drifting to the vintage gas pumps outside.

„Thanks for this. I…  I need some time to ponder, but you've certainly given me plenty to mull over.“

Edna winked. „Just doing my part, kid. Remember, life isn't a sprint. It's a magnificent, unexpected road trip. Enjoy the ride.“

He left the store, his steps lighter. But just as he reached his car, he turned back. „Edna, if you could know one thing about your future, would you want to know?“

She pondered his question, her chuckle filling the air. „Just one thing, huh? Well, then I'd want to know... if they ever figure out which came first: the chicken or the egg... or if they ever make a decent decaf coffee.“

„Ah,“ Joe sighed, shaking his head, „I'm afraid those might be two unsolvable mysteries of the universe.“

With that, he climbed into his Mustang, the engine roaring to life. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, watching as the gas station—and the remarkable woman running it—slowly disappeared into the distance. The weight of the future felt less daunting, and the past… well, it was just that—the past.

As he drove off into the night, the words of an old gas station attendant echoing in his mind, he realized one truth: No matter what year it was, time always moved forward, and so should he.