I went and followed the fellow in his pickup truck. Six quiet blocks or so, to Ralph’s house.
Ralph turned out not to be home, though.
Taking a card out of my pocket, I handed it to the Public Works guy.
“You can gice him this,” I said after I scribbled my cell phone number on it. “And tell Ralph that I’d love to hear any stories he has to tell.”
“I’ll do that. He sure does have some stories.”
Before I got back into my truck, the Public Works fellow who never did give me his name, despite my prompting him, tols me that I should stop and look at another gas station on my way out of town that Ralph’s family used to own.
“This one isn’t restored or anything,” he said.
I said goodbye and got in my truck and drove back to the main drag.