He wore brown corduroys, and suspenders and a polo shirt; and he had a cardboard sun helmet, painted silver, on his head. The sweat beaded on his nose and under his eyes and formed streams in the wrinkles of his neck. He strolled toward the truck, looking truculent and stern. “You folks aim to buy anything? Gasoline or stuff?” he asked. Al was out already, unscrewing the steaming radiator cap with the tips of his fingers, jerking his hand away to escape the spurt when the cap should come loose. He looked over at the fat man. “Need some gas, mister.’’ “Got any money?’’ “Sure. Think we’re
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