pay phone at night
Gas Station Hell
Gerald Ruiz

Insomnia Prison, Gas Station HELL— The night drowns the senses, killing the soul, You might not see, but I can surely tell… Spark of thought dwindling, choking in my hole. Freezing cold, the refrigerator groans— People always coming without reason; They treat me like a bank, asking for loans. It’s my season; I’ll charge them with treason. I’m the gas station king, doing my thing. Times call for midnight laughter and drinking Alone in this ghetto dungeon, somber singing. Locked away in translation, now thinking… Is this my HEAVEN or is this my HELL? And either way, I wish my demons well…