7-Eleven
When I was a teenager,
7-Eleven was the most important spot in my town.
It was practically my second home.
Almost daily, I made the trek—
30 minutes to walk there,
30 minutes to get back.
I’d go in,
grab a chocolate bar,
maybe a Slurpee,
look at a few movies,
pick up a few knickknacks.
But what mattered most
was what was right outside.
Other teenagers,
gossiping about goings-on,
flirting with girls.
Folks would come by to peddle weed,
and sometimes, right by the side,
we’d get out a deck of cards
or maybe a Game Boy,
play and replay till sundown.
We’d play till that florescent 7-Eleven sign
almost intermingled with the swoons of sunset,
till the sky transformed—
orange, then red, then darkness.
And when it got too cold,
or we got hungry,
we trekked back
from whence we came.
Photo credit: Abby Graves
