“Will this be the snow that sticks around?”, the man thought to himself as he grouchily scraped the snowy ice (or is it icy snow?) off his car windows. Excited to get back home after a long day, he scraped a bare minimum amount off the windows and quickly jumped into the driver’s seat, throwing the scraper on the floor. A tiny yellow light caught his attention. “Gas!”, he yelped in dismay as the light heckled him.
He prudently made his way down the slippery streets of Winnipeg to the closest gas bar and let out a big sigh, realizing he had to go back out into the cold. “I hate Winnipeg”, he sang softly to himself, slightly off-key.
He pushed the latch in to release the gas tank door and stuck his hand into his left coat pocket in search of his credit card… Nothing.
That morning, he was playing on his bed with his son Liam. The child’s curiosity led him to his father’s bedside table where neatly sat a stack of cards. “What could be the harm in letting him play around a bit?”, the man asked himself.
On that cold November day, no fuel was pumped, leaving an echoing void within one man’s fuel tank. The aforementioned light would not cease its mocking until later the next day, and the man did not feel sad, for he knew that, though his tank was drained of all but a few drops, his heart was overflowing with adoration for his young boy. Equipped with his credit card, the man had succeeded in creating memories that morning that would remain with him forever, all the while not spending a single cent.
That man was me,