Small Town Barista
The only gas station in town had been closed, temporarily, for some time. It shared a plaza with a traditional family restaurant, also closed.
The rest of the town looked well-kept. Most of main appeared to be thriving. A contemporary-style coffeeshop and café occupied an yellow-and-red brick building with radius windows. It had a trendy-sounding name and the decor wouldn't have been out of place in some big North American city neighbourhood at any point after 1994. We'd hoped to fill up the tank after eating. I figured that it would be better to ask a local than trust the map app. Cars were plentiful, and therefore, everyone must know where to get gas.
I posed the question to our barista, surely as worldly a person as one would find in a town with fewer than a thousand residents.
She thought a moment. "Are you heading this way (she pointed one way down main), or that way?" (she pointed down the other).
I indicated a third direction. "We're going that way."
"Oh, I don't know." She furrowed her brow. "I've never been that way."