“Ew, gross,” she thought.
The old man picked up the horseapple from the road and bounced it up and down in his hand. He had tobacco stains down his shirt. She thought it really didn’t matter that he was handling poop because he couldn’t get any dirtier.
“Get to the station!” he cackled. That’s what she thought he said, because his toothless speech was indistinct. Then she wondered why there was a pile of horseapples in the middle of the paved road.
That’s when he winged it at her. He actually threw it at her head, surprisingly fast. She ducked and backed up against her stalled car. She felt a flash of anger, not just at the old man who was throwing horseapples at her, but at the idiots who screwed up the gas station signs so badly.
He picked up another one, and she edged around the car to put it between her and the loony old man. He scuffled toward her vehicle, bouncing his ammunition.
“Stop it!” she yelled. He didn’t stop. He threw it at her. So she bolted into the high grass on the side of the road.
Right where the others were hiding in wait.