The bloody man

This morning, I was at a gas station and saw a gangbanger-type of guy--the type of guy who hip-hop fans revere and imitate. This guy, though, wasn't just wearing the fashion--he had the eyes of someone who was drugged and apathetic even about his own existence, and he really looked like he'd emerged from the streets--though which streets, I'm not sure, because I wasn't in the city but in Indiana near some smallish towns.

When he walked in and I was going out, he barely uttered a hello. I looked at his car, which had no license plates and was left running--so anyone could've walked up and stolen it. As I was pumping my gas, I wondered if he was going to do anything crazy inside, but he seemed so sleepily high that I wasn't sure he'd be able to manage it. After he left, I went back inside to get my change, and told the girl working behind the bullet-proof glass that his car didn't have plates. She said that there was blood on his shirt, which I hadn't noticed.

The guy is a thug, but I sort of pity his self-destructiveness.

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