I see him, maybe a 100 yds off, drunkenly moving from car to car checking to see if anyone left a door unlocked. Nope. Then he sees my truck in the distance and makes a beeline.
I remember that my windows are too darkly tinted, that he can’t see me, sitting behind the wheel. I feel safe, and thoughtful.
As he reaches for my door, I open it into him with as much force as I can muster. From behind the door, I jump out, yelling.
It is cold. I see that I have opened a cut in his forehead.
Chris Norris sells hats in downtown Boulder, and dreams of peddling stories, too.
