I went to the servo this morning to fill up and popped open the fuel tank. I looked down feeling perplexed – something was wrong – then it dawned: there was no fuel cap.
Instead all I saw was the mouth of the fuel tank agape in a dismayed O shape, as if it were shocked by the loss of its pacifier.
I thought back to when I last filled up, trying to remember anything odd about it – cause losing your fuel cap is more of a Beagle thing to do, rather than a Rouben thing.
Time passed in my mind, creeping like the winter chill across a barren field. Nothing living stirred there.