"Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't."
Fred came over with a brilliant red and blue striped plug. "How much?"
The old man glanced at the plug and then at Fred. "Two fifty, maybe."
Fred dug for the money and I said, "When isn't it dead around here?"
"Last night, for one." He pocketed the two fifty. "Lots of lights off in the woods a spell. Figured it was some city people. Local folks go to bed at a decent time of night."
I stood there looking at him and John Kelley's nightmare crawled out of the dim recesses of my mind where I thought I had buried it, and squatted right between my eyes, like a big, friendly collie dog making itself at home. Lights. Late at night lights. Lights like in a hundred news reports I had filed and forgotten.
I opened my mouth to say something and then let it go. An old school bus had ground to a stop out in front. The driver came in and I didn't more than glance at him. Young fellow, tanned, wearing marine fatigue pants and a white tee shirt. A vet, I thought. You see a hundred like him every day.
He jerked a thumb towards the gas pump in front. "Need some gas, Pop. About ten should do it."
The old man gave up figuring what I owed him and went out to fill the tank. I tried to strike up a conversation.