Petrol Station Tarot

In the petrol station dusk of first springtime evenings. Outside the window, the light - or lack of it - is an impossible shade of blue. I remember I used to watch all these old twilights from here, gaze past the counter, look across the petrol pumps, down the Old Shoreham Road and into the cool darkness of Hove Park.
During certain Sunday afternoons - usually those that accompany the end of summer - and if it was a grey day, I used to think that the distance has made those houses a mystery. I'm not sure exactly what I was referring to, nor can I remember exactly where those houses were. On those first cloudy days of late summer (when there were summers) there was a certain sense of shadowy possibility of those distant houses (their locations now lost), a dreamy sense of sleep split through with something cool and vast...
When I left the petrol station, I did not glance up the road, but I knew what would have been there. The darkness of the Old Shoreham Road, accentuated by those monolithic street lights. They used to remind me of dinosaurs, something pterodactyl-like in their shape. When I used to shut the petrol station down at 10:30pm, and walk home underneath their lurid orange glow, I would feel quite removed from any other time. It was as if the only thing that ever existed was this, myself walking down the Old Shoreham Road, alone in those strange hours before midnight. There was a secrecy here, and I would gladly greet all those psychic landmarks I had named; The House on the Bordeland, Farewell Corner, Black Dog Bridge, The Mask in the Woods, The Substation... Even in the unhappier seasons of my life there would be a strange recompense here, a kind of peace. Serenity would vie with mystery, and everything, home, life and the petrol station, would seem a welcome infinity away.