231 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
231 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
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Underground eXperts United
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Presents...
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[ Gas Station ] [ By The GNN ]
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____________________________________________________________________
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____________________________________________________________________
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"GAS STATION"
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by THE GNN/DualCrew-Shining/uXu
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A small regard to Robert Graysmith.
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He could always be seen chewing a bubble-gum while reading some cartoon
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he had borrowed from some shelf in his gas station. Many people had met
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him, but few of them had ever learned his name. Most of them just passed
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by, others stopped and bought some gas and stuff from his shop. Neon signs
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and big letters teased the car owners who approached the station and almost
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forced them to pull over and meet Bill Lee.
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Bill Lee actually hated his Shell gas station but that had not kept him
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away from it during the last twenty years. Every morning at six o'clock
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Bill would unlock the doors, light the neon signs and sit down by the
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counter, reading cartoons while awaiting the customers. Outside, the
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freeway would wake to life and yet another day with thousands of cars
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passing by would begin.
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The first customer arrived ten minutes past six. A blue volvo stopped
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right outside the door. A young man with sun glasses, despise the fact
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that it was still dark outside, entered the shop, looking around as if he
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expected an enemy to be inside.
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"Hi there, what can I do for you!" Bill shouted, to indicate that he was
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almost deaf but still ready to help anyone.
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The young man pulled out a black pistol from the back of his soiled jeans
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and pointed it at Bill.
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"Cash." the man answered with a voice that revealed his drug abuse.
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Bill pretended that he did not see the deadly gun.
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"Right. Cash. What do you want to buy with your cash?
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The young man sighed and cocked the pistol with his thumb. The click
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echoed through the shelves.
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"I want your cash, and I want it now."
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The young man walked towards Bill until the muzzle of the gun was tightly
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pressed against Bill's left cheek. Bill raised his finger and moved it
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slowly in front of his face.
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"I opened this store ten minutes ago. How can you expect me to have
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any money other than some coins for change?"
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The young man lowered his gun a bit, smiled, then he raised it again and
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firmly squeezed the trigger.
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There was little noise. A seal was created between the skin and the
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muzzle and the blast was expended into the body tissues. A conical
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perforation of the skull was created as the projectile was fired. The
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bullet, twisting and spiraling, particles of molten metal being thrown off
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as it traveled over a thousand feet per second, created multiple fractures
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of Bill's skull.
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In unison, the barrel slide of the gun recoiled until the barrel's
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movement was arrested. Continuing backward, the slide passed over the
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hammer, cocked it, and slammed against receiver as the empty casing was
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seized and ejected onto the floor of the shop. The slide sprung forward
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again, peeled off the next cartridge from the double-rowed magazine, and
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forced it into the chamber. The gun was ready to be fired again.
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"That is not my problem," the young man said without any sign of
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feelings. He turned around, checked that no one was around before he
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placed the gun in his jeans again. A little bell could be heard as he
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opened the door and went to his car. The blue volvo gently drove away and
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disappeared in the crowd of cars on the freeway.
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Bill's dead body lay on the floor behind the counter. Streams of red
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blood mixed with grey brain substance slowly made its way out on the floor
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around him.
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The next customer arrived half past six. A black Ford.
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"'ello?"
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It was a woman with two kids. The kids ran around in the shop, chasing
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each other while screaming loud. The woman looked around to find any
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employee in this hell hole of a gas station. She had just filled her car
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with fuel and would really like to pay for it too. A good citizen did not
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cheat small gas stations, she thought.
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"I will get you!" one of the kids screamed to his friend.
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"Be quiet..." the woman said with a voice that was doomed to be ignored.
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The woman looked around, holding her wallet with both hands. Her mouth
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was open and she understood that something was wrong. Her suspicious eyes
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examined every visible part of the small shop. One of the kids accidentally
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ran into a shelf and several bottles of Coke fell to the ground. One by
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one, the bottles were crushed against the concrete. The brown liquid
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splashed around together with pieces of designed glass.
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The woman stared at the kid who just stood still and watched what he had
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done.
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"Oh shit..." the woman said. "What have you done? There must have been
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ten bottles on that shelf!"
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"I'm sorry mom," the kid said with a weak voice.
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The woman took two gigantic steps against the kid, smacked him with her
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fist before taking both of the kids in their hands, dragging them against
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the car while repeating over and over again: "Shit, shit, shit.. hope no
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one saw us, I do not want this trip to be more expensive than necessary!"
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The Ford quickly drove away. The two faces of the kids in the back
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window of the car looked guilty. The woman would slap herself on the
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forehead and look guilty too, a couple of hours later when she remembered
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that she had forgotten to pay for the gasoline.
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The sun went up and shined on the Shell station and the cars that drove
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by. It was going to be a hot day. People cursed themselves for the fact
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that they had not bought air condition for their cars. Cars stopped to let
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out people who desperately needed to puke. Shiny and dirty exhaust pipes
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coughed smoke that smelled bad. The smell found its way into Bill's gas
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station but no one cared. The blood had stopped to stream out of his head
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and had now started to coagulate. A fly landed on his face, looking for
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food. It walked around a bit before it crawled into Bill's mouth.
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The third customers arrived at nine o'clock. Two teenagers jumped out
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from a chevrolet and danced their way into the station. They were both
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dressed in white t-shirts and blue jeans together with hip baseball caps.
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When inside, they jumped into the air and did high-five with each other.
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"Yeah boy! Lets get some beer before we hit the road again!" one of them
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said. The other one got down on his knees and yelled, with his hands in
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the air: "Beer! Beer!"
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Laughing, they went to one of the shelves and took two six-packs of
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Budweiser each. On their way to the counter one of the turned around and
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walked back to the shelf.
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"Hey! Where are you going?" the other asked, still walking towards the
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counter.
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"I think I want three six-packs boy!" he replied with a smile.
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The teenager placed the two six-packs under his arm and began to fumble
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for another on the shelf.
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The other one arrived to the counter, saw Bill behind it and immediately
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dropped the beers. One of the bottles exploded and sent white spume over
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his legs.
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"Oh, fuck!" he screamed and took two steps backward in disgust.
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"What's wrong?" the other asked, clearly confused.
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The teenager with the spume over his legs looked at his friend, holding
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his hand over the mouth.
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"Someone has been shot here..." he said with a low voice, almost
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whispering as if he was afraid that someone heard him.
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His friend shouted "What?" and ran to the counter. When he had seen
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Bill's cold body he looked at his friend with a scared face.
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"What the fuck are we going to do?" he asked. "What the fucking fucking
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hell are we going to fucking do?"
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"Have you got the shot gun with you... in the trunk?"
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"Yes, of course..."
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"Fuck! Let's get out of here! If the police comes, we will be blamed
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for this mess for sure!"
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They ran to the door at once. But before they left, both of them took as
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many six-packs as they could carry. The car roared away with a cloud of
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dust behind it.
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If Bill had been alive, he would have written down the letters and
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numbers on the plate and reported them to the police for theft. But Bill
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had been dead for two hours and did not mind. The two teenagers said the
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same thing to each other while crying and getting drunk in the car on their
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way to the beach.
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The sun climbed the sky. The day became hotter and hotter. Fast cars
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honked angrily at those who by some reason stayed within the ridiculous
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speed limit. A bus full of old people pulled over and stopped by Bill's
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Shell station. A group of pensioners stepped out, covering their eyes from
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the sun.
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The clock turned eleven.
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The driver, a tired man, stepped out and lit a cigarette while
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waiting for the old people to finish their break.
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"Now listen to me love, a white-haired old woman said. This is a gas
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station and it is forbidden, f-o-r-b-i-d-d-e-n, to smoke here! Now put it
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out at once!"
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The man dropped the cigarette and stepped on it, mumbled something and
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started to look at the passing cars. Seven old pensioners entered the
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station. Canes clicked against the concrete floor, eyes closely examined
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the price tags on several items.
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"Oh look!" a lanky man said. "The cigars and potato chips are on sale!"
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The group slowly made their way to the shelf with the bargain.
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"You are right," someone said. "Come on, lets buy this and then go."
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Wrinkled hands reached for the items, placed the cigars and potato chips
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in plastic bags before they in a slow pace went to the counter.
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They must have stared at Bill's corpse for several minutes before someone
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broke the silence.
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"What a shame. He looks so... young."
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The others nodded. An old woman looked through the window of the shop to
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make sure that the driver did not know what was going on.
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"What a waste. He could have done so much in his life. Now it's all..
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spoiled."
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"If we tell this to the driver," a bald man with a broken voice said, "we
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will never get to our hotel! Our vacation would be spoiled!"
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The others did not say anything.
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"This is not our problem!" the man continued. "Why should we take care
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of this? We have worked our whole life, earned our living as good
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citizens! We deserve some fun! We do not deserve this!"
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He is right, they said to each other. They walked outside and entered
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the bus. The driver praised the fact that he did not need to wait any more
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before the bus drove away on the freeway. While cars ran on the hot
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asphalt, the pensioners ate their potato chips and whispered over and over
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again to each other what a good idea it had been to leave without telling
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the driver about the dead gas station keeper.
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Several more customers entered the gas station that day. Most of them
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saw poor Bill on his back behind the counter but no one did anything about
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the situation.
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"This is not my problem!"
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"Why should I take care of this shit?"
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"Come on guys, lets split!"
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"I am not responsible!"
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"Let me just check if there is any money left before we leave!"
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When the night fell the road slowly chilled down and less cars drove past
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Bill's Shell station. Another day had passed and the hysterical freeway
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would calm down for a few hours. But this night, no one locked the doors
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to the gas station and no one turned the neon signs off.
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///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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This story may be unpleasant, but there is hope!
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uXu cares for everybody! Call THE STASH +46-13-tofindout
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\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
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I've visited Sellafield.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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uXu #190 Underground eXperts United 1994 uXu #190
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Call CHANNEL ZERO -> +1-410-426-7737
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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