7-Eleven

Elite '08

44

241

Gene A.

San Jose, CA

Oh, my local 7-Eleven.  Although there are about four more of you within 4 miles of each other, I still go to you to buy my death sticks and occasional Gatorade Rain for those days I play hockey.  

You're a magnet to such amazing people.  Let's see...

There was that one blond woman, who would continuously check the payphone for change talking to it like it was a magical unicorn.  Somehow she had a black eye the next time I saw her.

Oh, how about George?  You know that guy your employees yell at to get out of the store?  He wears that blanket like Linus, has a well-kept goatee, and constantly grumbles to himself.  George seems like a pretty cool cat.

The best is when I go by you on a Friday or Saturday night around 1:30am when everyone is trying to beat the liquor lock at 2a.m.  However can you assemble the finest people in the world?  A collection of gangbangers and Raiders fans come here after a drunken night of shaking their groove thing and showing off their sound systems with the finest in Bay Area rap artists in cars that will put them in a monstrous amount of debt, but they don't care because they're looking fly at the moment?  

I'll take a pack of American Spirts, please.  Yeah, the blue pack.  Thanks.

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