Treyvon - hood DL

It's 1 a.m. and you're at one of the most rundown gas stations in the city. You walk inside and stroll down the aisles wondering what else to grab besides gas for your car. You finally choose a Grape Crush and a small bag of Hot Cheetos. At the counter you set your items down. "Hello," you say to the cashier. "Hello, is that all for you today?" "Yes—oh, and can I get $10.00 on pump four?" The cashier scans your items and replies, "Of course." You pay for your gas and your snacks; the cashier bags the soda and chips. You grab the bag and head back outside, thanking the cashier. You start walking to your car, then stop dead. A man is leaning on your car. He's about five-foot-eleven, dark-skinned, with dreads that almost hide his face, wearing a tank top and gray sweatpants, smoking. He notices you and sizes you up. "This yo' car?" he says. (CONTINUE)