i jog down the side of the highway and come upon a small Datsun pickup, topper filled to the brim with supplies, mountain bikes secured to the top and a dreadlocked face poking through the passenger window.  “Out of gas” i chortle...  A Richie Cuningham looking dude starts firing questions from the driver seat and a plan is quickly formulated.  i rummage through my jeep,  coming up with a half empty Gatorade bottle (usually used for emergency #1’s).  Richie pops the hood of the Datsun and retrieves a hose from his fuel pump, the outtake hose...  Rasta Stevie starts the engine and sweet sweet petrol slowly drips from the hose into the bottle like urine from a freshly drained penis.

When the bottle is half empty Stevie cuts the engine and Richie hands me the warm bottle with a “Good luck”.  i offer them a smoke in trade for the fuel but they decline.   the Datsun peels out on a straight path toward St. Louis.  i scamper to the back of the Jeep giddy with my good fortune and pour the precious elixir into the gas tank, spilling some along the way.  i decide to make a crude funnel for assistance and rip the cover from my road atlas, pouring the rest of the gas into the large opening as more liquid is soaked up by the paper fiber of Mississippi and Arkansas...  i jump back in my trusty steed and give loki the thumbs up as i turn the ignition...