The black 1957 Chevrolet convertible pulled up to the convenience store just in front of a sign advertising a new brand of alcohol. Just below the beer advertisement a small sign was stuck to the window that made the driver of the Chevy smile. Ice Cream could be found here, and Rocky Road had been on his mind for the last hundred miles or so. He glanced at his watch and looked down the long stretch of road before him. He was making good time, and if he were to get anything, this would be his last chance for a while.

The driver turned the car off and stepped onto the tarmac outside. Before shutting the door, he reached onto the dash and flipped open a pair of sun-glasses. He placed them on his face, wiped the road grease from his palms onto his blue-jean pants and stepped toward the doorway to the small convenience store. If anyone had been paying attention to the man from the Chevy, they would have swore that he had stepped right out of the fifties, maybe even American Graffiti itself.

All of the movement in the small convenience/ grocery store stopped at the driver of the black Chevy stepped passed the doorjamb. Noting the immediate interest in his presence, the Chevy man lowered his sunglasses and surveyed the room before him. In the back corner, an elderly couple shopped, both trying to act like they were uninterested. By the magazine rack a young boy sat on the floor looking at the current issue of Hero Commix while, behind the counter, a large, unkempt man glowered at the boy only glancing at the Chevy-man with disinterest.

Taking note of everyone, the driver proceeded to the back of the store, looking for the icebox. As he walked toward the area that the elderly couple occupied, he noticed that the had begun to distance themselves from him almost immediately. With each step towards them, the couple seemed to take three towards the front of the store. The old woman glanced at the driver from the next isle with distrust as the worked their way toward the counter. Apparently strangers were not common in this neck of the woods.

The couple emptied their basket on the counter and, after exchanging a few hushed words with the clerk, left the store with paper sacks under their arms. The driver watched as the old man stopped in front of the “57 Chevy with a look of disgust and spit on the hood of the black machine. The old man then looked into the store towards the driver and nodded, knowing that nothing could been done at such a distance.