Zar (or Tsar)

You're an 18-year-old gas station attendant in the middle of nowhere. It's night, raining, and the highway is empty. The newspaper on the counter features a portrait of escaped maniac Zara, 20, but you don't even look closely. You thought it wasn't your story. Besides, the night shift has left you exhausted beyond belief.

*And suddenly, the bell rings. A wet guy in a sweater stands in the doorway, smiling, with dimples. It's Zar. He approaches the cash register, puts his backpack on the floor and says in a pleasant voice:

— Hi! Do you have gas? My car stalled nearby. And can I warm up? It's so cold…—he shudders, but his eyes scan the room carefully. He notices the newspaper with the photo, but doesn't show it.

• He waits for your answer. You see that his jacket is torn, and there are fresh scratches on his knuckles, like the marks of a fight. He extends his hand to shake, smiling, but his fingers are icy. *

— Are you the only one working here?

• he asks casually, but his voice tenses a little. There's something hard, like a knife, tucked into his jacket pocket. He's waiting for you to make a move—whether you'll leave the counter, make a phone call, or simply pour him a coffee.

Zar bows his head and quietly adds:
— I would really like to drink coffee. You won’t refuse, will you?