Page 26 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

I glare at him.

"Hungry?" he asks, in a cheap ass effort to placate me.

"Yes."

He reaches into his pocket and hands me a hundred dollar bill.

"Put $40 on the pump and get yourself some snacks."

I reach for the money, skeptical about the entire situation. He was just trying to kill me with his motorized demon bike so giving me money just isn't adding up in this situation.

"Come on, Doc. We have to keep it moving."

He smiles again and I can't tell if I like him calling me doc. I need to walk and get some fresh air, so I nod and take my first few steps towards the door before he changes his mind. A plump blonde woman wearing a gas station branded shirt greets me cheerily, but with an air of customary suspicion in her voice, like I have the air of a thief just because of my skin color.

New England racism is funny like that.

"Hi," I say to her, trying to hide my nausea so she doesn't take that as another sign of suspicion and actually call the cops over nothing. "Can I get $40 on pump five and... I'll pay for the snacks separately."

"Sure thing."

She sullenly accepts the hundred dollar bill, aggressively checks it for fraudulence with a clear marker and then hands me back $60. It's a big snack budget and I have no plans of being a cheap captive. Protein shake for $7? Don't mind if I do. Apple for $2.50? Add it to the list.

I get enough for a solid thirty minutes of snacking and throw in some peanuts and Zyns for Ethan. I have my “emergency” credit card carrier in my front pocket because I’m paranoid like that, even if it just has my emergency debit card with less than $5 of cash available and my old McGraw College ID, which I kept because of the rare good hair day.

He's a grungy looking white boy, so I'm honestly shocked he hasn't spat out one of those little white pouches in front of me yet.

I throw my stuff into a little basket and walk back to the front, completely ignorant to any other clients in the Cumberland Farms and lowkey, I'm famished. I don't know how a man the size of Ethan hasn't needed to eat yet.

The cashier at the front of the gas station starts slowly scanning my items.

"Expensive!" she remarks after scanning the protein shake.

A man clears his throat behind me. I expect it to be Ethan, so I look over my shoulder and... it isn't.

"Nice day out, huh?" the man says. He's about my dad's age, gray-haired with coffee stained teeth.

"As nice as it gets in New England..."

People here don't make small talk.

"It's even better watching you walk around with that big old black butt."

The cashier stops scanning. Girl, if you don't...

"Excuse me?" I say to the ‘gentleman’.

He chuckles. "I'm just saying. You don't see a nice big black ass like that every day."

I cross my arms over my chest, which only makes this creep look down at my boobs and purposefully lick his lips like a pit bull eyeing a lamb chop.

"That is very disrespectful, sir," I say firmly, standing up for myself because I know I can run to Ethan outside -- as long as the cashier finishes scanning my shit!

She scans the apple. There are still four items left, but she's ogling the situation like I don't have places to be.

"No disrespect," he says. "Just letting you know that I would put my tongue deep inside that pretty black butthole if you let me."

"MA'AM! Can you hurry up?"

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