Stopping at an auto fuel station, and me looking up...

Stops me at an auto fuel stop
Running from eight non stop
Are we not?
me and the machine cool...

The attendant having a tired look
Comes up with his stipulated hose-
A pipe to run fuel into the machine-
Paused, no purring;

Machine waiting
For guzzling
Fuel
(Which came in form of petrol...
Volatile...)

without looking
me looks up
The Giant billboard advert
There hung
As if destined,
Perfunctory...
A story
Of a poem
As if by Dickinson...
As Emily Writes:

We ride...
death, me, life passing by and immortality,
Kind,

And the advert
Color deep
Of a blue...
Hangs loose
As if destined
With a write
Bold, clear, distinct,
As if fated-

'I take rest and wake up at my first home. THE ROAD.'

(Note: realistic a scribble this, only if you believe...added Emily Dickinson as a zing...just...)