Tapped out. Charged my gas. Out of nowhere he’s ripping the gas pump nozzle out of my grip & waving me off under the station’s canopy night lights. Filling my tank. PUMP IT FOR A BUCK. He could be spraying my face. This is no Edward Hopper painting. On this corner I’D LIKE TO HELP YOU SIR BUT I HAVE NO MONEY doesn’t fly. He’s getting my plastic slid thru his lips or the cheeks of his ass when the pump clicks off.
by Mark James Andrews of Harper Woods