Alright, nobody said this would be easy.
Why didn't I think of this sooner? They probably fill up at night so the rubes won't catch on! Still posted on my hill, I vigilantly stare into the darkness looking for that convergence of lights that will lead me to the secret pumps. If you sell it wholesale, they will come.
I do not find them. But something finds me.
Is that a pig or a three hundred pound rat? Do rats have tusks?
Bright and early on Thursday morning, I'm the first person in line when the white haired ladies from the Garden Club open up the Hondo thrift shop.
"Good morning! How can we help you today sir?"
"I need a cowboy hat. I need a real Texas cowboy hat" I blurt out.
What a beauty! It's kind of silver gray and made of some kind of velvety suede and absolutely genuine Texas cowboy for just seven bucks.
That's what I'm wearing when I hit the taqueria for breakfast. Sure, the hat may be a little dressy with my Met's T-Shirt, denim shorts and tasseled yellow loafers, but I figure it will show these boys I'm one of them.
The tejanos, in the corner booth, dribbling Tabasco on their chorizo and egg tacos listen very quietly as I explain the situation to them in great detail. "Sure", they say politely, "we can't lie to someone wearing a hat like that. You just wait here", they assure, "and we'll get you a guide to the secret fuel dump."
I'm not sure what guides wear in Central Park, but when this one showed up they had him dressed up just like a State Trooper.
All the folks down at city hall were warm and friendly. They didn't even lock me up; just left me on a bench with my fancy second-hand hat. The clerks took turns coming over to look at me. We all drank a lot of coffee and they made a lot of phone calls. I couldn't hear very well but they must have been talking to the local hospital or some doctor. Something about being out in the sun too long. Apparently, it's not so unusual in these parts.
After they were sure I didn't believe in the hometown discount anymore, they let me go.
I've learned my lesson. I left my hat on the back step of the Garden Club thrift shop and headed straight out of town without looking left or right for wholesale Texas gas. You know, when you think about it, that was a pretty stupid idea.
I've decided to move on. I'm going to Oklahoma. They have oil there too.
Maybe the Indians will give me a break.
If I can only find those beads...
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