Albert was old and set in his ways. He had routines and he liked them. Every Thursday morning he would leave the house and drive fifteen miles to a gas station just of I78. There wasn’t much special about that gas station, but they sold glass bottles of coke and out the front they had one of the old wall mounted bottle openers.
Albert would drive there, fill his tank if he needed to and buy a single bottle of coke. He would open it, sit on the bench, slowly drink it and think about Martha.