A man walked into a lonesome gas station hidden off a long stretch of desert road in Nevada. It was almost dusk and the desert heat was dissipating with the fading light. The man looked around aimlessly.
“Need help finding something?” the older man behind the register asked.
The large man shook his head without looking up. Then he grabbed a soda from the cooler—seeming not to look at what he’d grabbed—and headed to the register. He set the drink down with a metallic thud.
“Is that all?”
The large man shook his head again, this time reaching into his waistband. Like a viper, his hand whipped upward with great speed as he pointed a pistol at the old man, but he was met with the gleaming barrel of a shotgun.
The two stared at each other in silence for some time—waiting for the other to move.