If I can get my card out of my broken bag, maybe I can quickly swipe it through the reader and pay whatever ungodly amount myself before he can buy it. I really can’t let a stranger pay for this. He’s already at the counter when I catch up. And it’s like he knows what I’m planning, because when I reach for the front zipper pocket, where my wallet is stored, he lifts his arm and hugs the bag to his chest.
