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from Harvester by Tom Mohler

Gas & Go 87

What a fucking day. Almost fired for repeated tardiness, only managing to make two measly sales (each of which I had to fight for tooth and nail), delirium, hallucinations, pounding headaches, and now I’m stuck standing behind this lumbering biker at my local pit stop as he attempts to hit on the owner’s daughter, Shelly. 

“Babe, I’m tellin’ ya that you ain’t never had no ride like what old Scooter has planned for ya. Like I said, why don’t you and me blow this rat trap and cruise on down to my pad, huh?” He leans over the counter, his gut pressing firmly into the lighter and candy bar display. Shelly can’t be more than seventeen but ‘old Scooter’ here really doesn’t seem to care even though he’s easily in his early forties.

“I’m really sorry sir, but I can’t leave in the middle of my shift.” Shelly looks at me past the biker. “There’s a line forming and like I told ya before I really have a lot of work to do.”

“Suit yourself, ya little minx. Just gimme twenty on five and a couple of those Jackpot Millions scratch offs over there.” As Shelly turns to get the guy his lottery tickets, he looks down at her ass and moans while grabbing his jock. When she turns back around, her face is flushed as goes to ring him up.

“That’ll be thirty-dollars even, sir.” Shelly wrinkles her nose and holds out her hand.

Scooter reaches into his back pocket and p...

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