"See, the thing about life is,
You're quite lucky, really, until you're not.
That's how it is with everything.
There's really no grey area; everything's just windin' down to when you're **** outta luck,
And when you're there, it's quite sobering, isn't it?
Take Skipper, for example.
You know, you fill 'er up,
And you think to yourself
'Man. I am so ******* lucky.
How did I get so ******* lucky?'
Because you can go wherever the hell you want to on that 300-or-so miles of gas.
Because you, my friend, are the perpetual white, privileged, American girl who has liquid gold pumped into her lousy little heart every fifteen days or so.
Because you can.
And you feel good. Really good.
But then, you forget about it.
The thing is, you are 'so-fucking-lucky' for like two weeks or so; you just don't notice, see.
'Cause nobody notices.
You just drive because that's what you do.
And you've got other things to think about; where you're going, who you're seeing, how you're getting there.
And you're 'so-fucking-lucky' until you hear that sickening little beep that tells you you're on reserve.
And everybody does the same thing.
Everybody asks a lot of stupid questions.
Your almost-empty tank consumes your mind.
How can I pay for the next one?
Man, I should really get a better job.
Let's see, when did the reserve light go on?
How much is left in there?
Can I get home?
Can I even get to the next gas station?
What if I just left this godforsaken town and let my car just break down somewhere and I would finally be free?
Will my parents be angry that I'm filling up after half a week?
Will they question where I've been?
Do I even have my license with me?
Maybe I shouldn't have driven around so much.
Oh god, maybe I shouldn't sneak around as much as I do.
Why am I driving at night just for the sake of driving when there are starving kids in Africa?
Ugh, I disgust myself.
The gas tank owns you.
Emptiness owns you.
And such is life, you know?
Because we don't even understand things unless they're full or empty.
As humans, we just don't.
We're always waiting for the reserve light to turn and the questions to be answered and that ache in our hearts to go away.
You know, we always sneak around 'trying to get home' on fumes.
We go slower, thinking that'll help, and we turn off the ignition faster, not bothering to finish up that last good song as your car wastes fuel in the driveway.
We're consumed by the thought of when our engines are just going to die.
Because you're just ******* empty at that point, my friend.
And then you're not so ******* lucky anymore."