Once the pump had finished and I replaced it in its original position, I turned to see a fist speedily approaching my lack-of-face at an alarming velocity.
I felt the impact, and, since I was caught off guard, staggered and nearly fell to my knees.
"Well, look who it is," a familiar voice said in a somewhat threatening tone.
I looked up to see Phil Collins standing over me with a pistol drawn.
"This time you can't get away," he continued, "for I have special silver bullets, except made out of eldritch instead of silver."
"Isn't eldritch just a descriptor of an incomprehensible object or creature, and not a type of physical material?" I countered, calling his bluff.
"Shut your face, is what it is," he retorted.
Now standing at my full height, I stared into his eyes while he prepared his pistol for the coming bloody rapport.
"I don't talk round corners, right between the eyes. I walk a straight line, right between the eyes," he said, taunting me.
"Yeah, well joke's on you; I have no eyes," I replied, feeling extreme pride.
With that, he dropped his gun, stuttering, failing to produce comprehensible words.
"I have to go now, for supper's ready," I taunted, and at that he fell to his knees in a paralysis of mind-numbing shock.
And with that, I continued on my journey to the German border.
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