Purchasing a large bag of totally unnecessary and not good for you, but oh so addictive Beaver Nuggets, I step outside to where Michael said he would park after filling up the car.
He is not here.
I walk a Buc-ee’s mile to the other end of the building. I look beyond to where a seeming million cars are fueling up; he is not where I left him. Barely an hour from home and losing Michael in Buc-ee land is not part of the plan, but here I am.
Now, what do I do?
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