Walker At The Pump

I was tired from all the walking, so I walked up to a man pumping gas. “Can I help you?” He said. “You can help me, yes. But will you?” I said. He seemed a little put off by my answer. “Can I help you, or not?” He said. I stood in front of his truck and the gas station attendant came out. “Sir, I’m not sure what you think you are doing, but you’re going to have to leave or I’m calling the police,” he said. “You would say that.” I said. The other man had been trying to get around me with his truck, and I could tell from his mouth, the color of his face, and the huge vein about to erupt out of his forehead he was cursing hard. I walked up to the attendant. “Listen, why don’t you go back into your little office over there, and let us come to some sort of understanding,” I said. “I don’t see that happening, sir,” he said. “That’s because you’re not looking with your right eyes,” I said. The man got out of his truck, grabbed me by the back of my jacket, and pushed me onto the pavement. “So that’s how you’re going to play it,” I said. The man got back into his truck and began to try to run me over a little bit.

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