The Weekday One Hundred

I checked my watch. Five minutes to midnight. I still had a shot.

I yanked the steering wheel. The car blew through the parking lot and skidded to a stop in front of the Sip Station, the only convenience store still open.

My last chance at salvation.

I burst through the door, sprinted down the aisles. My list was short: one bottle of sparkling water – pineapple – and one bag of white cheddar popcorn.

“You can’t get either, you don’t come back,” my pregnant wife said.

I plopped both on the counter along with my card.

“Cash only,” smirked the attendant.