"What in the..." Mason shook his head at his friend, who had his head under the slushie machine pouring cola slushie into his mouth. His black curly hair was touching the back of the device.

"Hey!" The greasy-haired man behind the counter wearing overalls and no shirt bellowed, startling the friends. "Whatcha doing back there?" He asked, leaning over the counter for a better view.

Jerry sprang from under the fountain, laughing, and reached for a supersize cup. The clerk muttered loud enough for them to know he was grumbling about them but not loud enough for them to hear.

"You should have used a cup in the first place. You're nasty, man," Mason said quietly so the angry store clerk could not hear.

"No harm. No foul," Jerry shrugged. "He'll get over it. That hillbilly should be thankful we are buying anything out of this old crummy dump!" He took a huge gulp of the slushie; then, he stuck the cup back under the spout to refill it.

The old filling station did not hold cleanliness as a priority. The worn, rusting, black-stained shelves held several lubricants for motor vehicles, along with chips and snacks. Containers of kerosene, used for stoves, lamps, and as lighting fluid, lined the shelves under the window. Five-gallon gas cans stacked alongside the out-of-place refrigeration case looked like leftovers from the 1990s. With no cell reception, the station supplied road maps to help tourists maneuver the back roads. Used tires piled high on the side of the building were available for tire services and installation if needed. The station's weather-worn pumps from the 1950s created a concern for leakage and possible injuries. Regardless of the appearance or location, the bumpy roads brought customers the station's way, helping supply the store with business.

"You are too much, man. Now that your mouth was all over the dispenser, I guess I have to settle for a bottle of Coke." He started walking around the chip rack when a thought entered his mind. Pausing with his nose scrunched up, Mason said over his shoulder, "Make sure you wipe that off!"

"Whatevs." Jerry brushed him off with a wave of his hand.

Reaching into the refrigerated glass case to pull out a bottle of Coke, Mason heard the man behind the counter greet someone. "Howdy, what brings you to these parts?"

"I would like to use your bathroom if you have one," Suzanne responded in an irritated tone.

Someone has to go, Mason thought, removing two bottles of Coke.

"It's in the back." The dismissive cashier informed her.

"Thanks, " she said, heading to the back of the store with Hannah in tow.

"Ma'am, I meant in the back back of the store. You have to go outside and walk around the building."

"Shouldn't you have said that in the first place?" Suzanne snapped, double-stepping it outside.

"Manners will get ya more than..." the cashier began.

"Thank you. We'll be right back," Hannah said in a gentler sing-song tone. It was not the first time she tried to soothe things with a stranger after her friend triggered someone with her harsh words.

The musical voice sent shivers up and down Mason's spine; he was drawn to the front of the store, hoping to catch a glimpse of the owner of the intoxicating voice.

As he approached the front of the store with his bottles of coke in hand, the owner of the pleasing voice was walking out of the store. He rushed towards the door, hoping to catch the women before they drove away.

An irritating voice repelled him from giving chase, grating on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. The offensive tone owner complained about the store's attendant and how hillbillies need to get a life.

"She sounds like the female version of Jerry, " Mason mumbled with a shake of his head.

"Hey, boy! What ya doin' with them there bottles of cola?"

Mason looked at the clerk before glancing at the Coke bottles he had in his hands. Chasing after the women, he'd forgotten he was carrying them.

"You gonna buy 'em or not?" The worker snapped, his hand sliding under the counter.

"Yeah, I am."

Removing his wallet from his back pocket, Mason returned to the counter. As he stood in front of the cash register, his thoughts were on the angelic voice outside, waiting to meet him.

The sounds of the keys on the register filled the store as the worker typed in Mason's purchases on the old manual cash register.

"Nine dollars and fifty-eight cents, " the worker announced after entering the bag of chips Mason tossed on the counter.

"For two cokes and a bag of chips?" A wide-eyed Mason exclaimed, jumping backward as if the announcement sent shock waves through him.

"That's it, boy. You want 'em or not?"

"First off, I am not your boy! Secondly, I think you need to ring it up again. You made a mistake somewhere," suggested Mason, shoulders squared back, giving him a taller appearance.

Spitting his chewing tobacco into a tin can by the register, the worker looked him up and down disdainfully. "I think I wrung 'em corrects the first time," his twang rubbing against Mason's agitated nerves.

Mason, repelled by the worker's racist attitude, was temporarily unable to respond. Although when the clerk smirked at him, Mason's hand balled into a fist. Not wanting to ruin their vacation away from Jerry's business, Mason huffed, brushing aside his feelings toward the rude worker. "Keep it! I no longer want it," shaking his fist loose, he turned, leaving the smug clerk behind.

Mason never met such a disagreeable person in all his life, and he met a lot of people as a delivery driver. He'd even met a few unruly souls when on a gig, but the attendant took the cake. Stopping beside the candy bars and snacks, Mason heard the musical voice approaching the store. He was determined to catch her before she left a second time, and he never saw her again.

"Hello? Earth to Mason?" Jerry waved his hand in front of his friend's face. "Do you want some boiled peanuts?"

Mason shook his head, briefly giving up on meeting the owner of the magical voice.  He wanted to warn Jerry about his experience with the attendant running the register. "The clerk is racist. I don't think you should give him your money."

"What?"

"He keeps calling me boy, and he tried to charge me double for my purchase," Mason explained.

"I'm taking more slushie," Jerry declared. "This will show him!" Jerry stuck his mouth under the dispenser, helping himself to more of the cool slushie goodness.

"Suzanne! The luggage will be safe outside; besides, I am tired of dragging it everywhere we go," Hannah told her friend, who was worried someone would steal her expensive shoes. Hannah rolled her eyes. They were the only ones on the back road who could wear them; no one else was around to be a threat to them.

Mason repeatedly tapped his friend on his shoulder, causing his head to bob up and down under the slush. "Jerry! Get up! An angel has entered the store!"

Jerry snorted as cold coke slushie slid up his nose.