Derrick Patterson hated using his horn for more than a tap, but this time he just had to lay on it for few seconds. He knew the kind of reputation his trailer rig had on the roads he traveled. People either avoided him because of his enormous size or went out of their way to annoy him just because they were smaller and could. It was never an enviable spot to be in. There were few in-betweens.
But Patterson held onto the air horn, letting up slightly to vary the sound.
At the next red light, the blue-haired, fully tattooed woman got out of her car and marched over to his rig. From the time she opened her door, the words flew out of her mouth, making up phrases about Patterson’s ancestors and relatives he had never heard before. He thought about writing them down because he could use them someday, but didn’t want to interrupt her flow.
Even after the light had gone through two cycles and more horns were honking behind his rig, the lady was still pointing and cursing out Derrick Patterson. He wasn’t enjoying it necessarily, though it would be hard to tell with the smirk on his face. He merely looked down at her and leaned out his window, nodding to acknowledge that he might have been some or all she was accusing him of.
She ended her rage with a simple question, “Don’t you have anything to say about it?”
Patterson shook his head and said, “Not really, but you do realize you have a gas pump hose dangling from your gas tank, don’t you? I think the gas station back there is missing theirs.”
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