When I was a teenager, he worked at the gas station. Not the one my parents used. But when I started to drive, I’d drive in and he’d check the air in the tires. I never needed gas. The tires never needed air.
He was tallish. Thin with muscles on his arms. Dark curly hair and a boney face with deep, dark eyes. Serious. Always working, it seemed to me.
I never saw him in the winter when I was in school. My dad would get the paper on Sundays. I didn’t drive in the winter because of the snow. It was as if Arnie were a part of summer.
There was a romance about him because of that.
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