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In the late 1970s, I was going home on a Friday evening,
and needed a little more fuel in my truck, 
enough to get back to work on Monday morning.
I had $3 on me, pulled into a gas station, 
told the guy who pumped gas to give me three Dollars' worth.  
Back in those days that was a meaningful amount of fuel.  

After a short time, he shut the pump off, came back to me, 
"That'll be $10.35."  He'd filled it up.  

"Well uh... Wow, man, I did say to give me three bucks' worth....  
Three bucks is all I got."
I gave him the three $1 Dollar bills,
then displayed the forlorn and empty chamber that was my wallet.

Another blow, one more little stumble of existence, 
yet again life had dealt with him harshly.  
He dropped his head down and turned it to the side, 
"Yeah, you did say that...." 

This was before my bank had automatic teller machines.  
You were out of money late on Friday afternoon, 
you had to wait until the banks opened up on Monday morning.  
Credit cards were not yet part of my life.  
I told him I'd go to the bank on Monday and bring him the rest of the money.  
Asked if he was working then. 

"Yeah, I'll be here.  Okay..."  He was shrugging as he said, "Okay"
- he knew darn well I wouldn't return.  
He was going to have to eat that $7.35. 

He was an old-looking mid-40s, possibly 50.  
He'd been close to the margins of society, 
maybe even lived right on them.  
He had that "hard look," as if he was used to fate grinding against him. 
He might have been too young for World War II, 
but what about the Korean conflict, that strange proxy war? 
Could be... No way to tell from his clothes or appearance.  
He was getting by, but not in a good way, 
and didn't expect much else at this point.  
Hanging on, a little bit haunted in the eyes. 
Ex-convict?  Maybe.  
As I drove away, he tilted his head back and looked up.  
Was he appealing to God, asking for mercy and better luck?  
Or was he just staring at the roof-like canopy over the fuel pump area, 
wondering what the heck he was doing there? 

Monday came, I went to work, and at lunch got some money out of the bank.  
Even got change for the 35 cents.  
Later in the day, it was busy at the gas station when I returned, 
lots of vehicles at the pumps; 
so I parked around the other side of the building, 
then looked for the guy.  
He was bent over an old, low car, fuel nozzle in hand.  
I walked up to him and was pretty close when I said, "Hey man..." 

There was that haunted look again:  
"Whoa, who is this coming toward me, is there a problem, what's going on?"  
He was thinking that, didn't say anything, just looked at me.  
Maybe he still had trouble with the law out there, somewhere, 
thought I was a cop. 

"I was here Friday, you filled my truck up and I didn't have all the money....?"  
I took out $7 in bills and fished in my pocket, got a quarter and two dimes. 

A little bit of sunrise for him, right there, and he remembered.  
Some light in his eyes.  
I don't claim an especially honest life, this was just one thing I did.  
He nodded and said, "Hey yeah, buddy, thanks - most people wouldn't have stopped back." 

Almost 40 years ago.  He's probably dead by now.
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