Last Words at the Gas Station

Dear God, my final conversation with Dad was about unleaded versus premium fuel. "Stop wasting money," I snapped, tapping the cheaper button. He sighed and handed me a twenty like I was still sixteen. Two hours later, his tractor flipped in the north forty. The paramedic said he was muttering about ethanol blends when he passed. All those years I longed for fatherly wisdom, and in the end we argued about octane ratings. You give us lifetimes to say what matters, and we fill them with gasoline.