"Now you tell me how the fuck that can happen," he said, lowering the rifle. He was dressed in a mechanic's outfit and had enough oil in his hair to sink a buffalo. And he was blind.
"I spent 40 years of my life copying your bible by HAND and now I can't pick off who I want!" He seemed angry.
"Well, that really not my..."
"FUCK YOU!" he said as he whipped around to face me, slamming the butt of the rifle on the ground. "Something a little more than a candle would have been nice. Look at my face!"
Milky white eyes.
He continued to rant and rave as I wandered off to the nearby interstate, thumb in the air, avoiding the semis, and hoping nobody would stop because I'm pretty sure I shit myself.
