A lone country gas station sits under a star- drenched Southern sky, its faded red and blue neon sign buzzing against the quiet night. The cracked pavement glows under the flickering lights, reflecting the deep orange and purple hues of the distant horizon. A rusty pickup truck, its bed filled with crates of sweet tea and watermelons, idles near the pumps. The cashier, a weathered old man in overalls, leans on the counter, watching a stray hound curl up beside a vending machine. Fireflies drift lazily in the thick summer air, and an old blues song hums from the dusty radio inside