Walking the forecourt hands dug in deep breathing black winter air like a firehorse. Glass door split. No petrol for me. Look up gun in my face. Never happen before. No T-I-M-E to think. Push by me and I watch a man on the run. “I only come for Rizla” what to do? I DO NOTHING WRONG. I panic. I run. I do 4 years.
Fourteen years later hand on the pump breathing sweet petrol air like a firehorse. Glass door split. No Rizla for me. No gun in my face. Happen before. Time to T-H-I-N-K. Pay at counter and watch man look at me. “I ONLY COME FOR RIZLA.” Get in my car and turn to my son. “You my firehorse, you never be afraid.” I drive. I cry. He’s 4 years old.