I turned, hitching up my backpack. Sure enough, there he was, in his rattletrap truck. He’d stopped in the middle of the intersection.
“I will be there in two days, Josh,” his thickly accented voice said. “Two days.”
“I know,” I said.
“I will bring with me the bottles.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then you know I must be paid.”
I tried not to shudder. I thought I could hear the clattering motion in the back, even over the rising horns.
“The price is higher this time, Josh. You will be ready.”
I nodded, feeling my heart sink.
Unbranching Personal Narratives
2 hours ago