I’m flying. Late for work, didn’t even shower. Drive while I sop up the mess of my morning, like my spilled coffee. Including that annoying gas can that just lit on the dashboard by the fuel gauge. Ding! Another setback. The turn into C-Stop might have been on two wheels, but I don’t care. I’m late. The pumps are all empty. I scrub to a halt at the first one and jump out faster than a pit stop crew. I beep buttons until the nozzle activates. Squeeze, clip, wait. Excruciating seconds tick away precious minutes I could spend speeding down the highway before I’m past due. My foot is tap-tapping, and I’m focused solely on the spinning numbers pumping gas into my tank.
Tics of laughter peel into my narrow awareness, that and the rummaging of the garbage can beside the dripping squeegee bucket hung to the side of the pump. I cast a sideways glance at a grubby goblin man digging through trash. His matted, tangled hair globs together in feathered tufts like fire from a matchhead. His eyes glint back at me with so dark a depth of color they seem all pupil, no iris. He chitters private chuckles to himself as he scowls at the rubber hose dispenser latched into my gas tank. He scratches his ass under baggy cotton pants and pulls a half-eaten sandwich from the trash with his free hand, which he raises overhead in victory. He confides in me with his crazy bum pupils that float as if unattached. He showcases the sandwich, then bobs his head in an excited twitch before he takes an unencumbered bite. He chomps and smacks with satisfaction.
“See?” he gnashes sound around his chews, “It’s so easy. You so stupid! Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
A rogue crumble of oily cheese flops off his wagging tongue in an arc to my shoe. He gestures at the gas nozzle pumping my hard-earned dollars into the tank to burn up. I follow his gaze, and the nozzle pops to a stop. Full tank. The beggar sniggers and smacks. He holds onto the waste bin and strains to push out a hollow fart that tears behind him like the echo of a thunderclap. I slam the hose back to the machine and seal my tank cap. I kick the slobbery cheese bit off my toe and scramble back to my seat. The greasy dude stands there smiling with a dot of congealed mayo in his ragged beard. He waves when I turn the engine. Foot to the floor, I fly away.