"Great. Just great."
Ian leaned back in his seat, pressing his head into the headrest. This was the first time in years he'd run out of gas. So far, this trip hadn't been nearly as fun and restful as he'd hoped. Gas prices rising just as he'd left, his car had needed last minute maintenance -- both of which had cut into his meager travel budget-- then, at some time earlier today, he'd gotten lost (why hadn't he bought a GPS system?! then again, he swore that the area maps where wrong), and, now, slightly more than a mile from a gas station (or, at least, where a sign said there was a gas station), he'd used up the last of the fumes in his car's tank.
Ian pushed open the door and popped the car's hatch. Somewhere, under the sleeping bag, tent, cooler, and other random trip stuff, was a pair of gas cans... and, after pulling nearly everything out and piling it on the gravel shoulder, he found one of them.
Ian repacked the car and slammed the hatch shut and glanced at himself in the dusty window. A middle-aged, somewhat overweight man looked back at him.
"I'm getting too old for these trips," he grumbled. Forays into parts of the country he hadn't visited before-- where a young person's game. Of course, when he was a young person, he hadn't been able to afford to travel-- and his parents would have been terrified to know he was going off by himself, even if it was to visit well traveled, civilized locals.
Bending down to pick up the gas can a glint of sunlight (at least it wasn't night and raining!) off something metallic caught his eyes. Stooping a little further, he grabbed some sort of medallion on a chain off the ground. A crudely made piece of junk jewelery, with some sort of winged, humanoid figure surrounded by animals on the face of the medallion, hung from a chain. Shrugging, Ian hung the medallion around his neck and grabbed the gas can.
Starting down the road's shoulder Ian headed for the gas station.