Jasper fingers the trigger in desperation. He knows the numbers are a fraud before starting. Ninety-six-cents makes a big difference in the life of a man with no job, little money, less pride.
He thinks, “I can’t.”
Jasper also knows that there is nothing he can do about it. He looks at his shoes. He could walk away, but again that would do nothing. So Jasper decides to end it, no more debating, no further argument, nothing but the act remaining. He exhales, squeezing the trigger.
The gas pump thunks to life — the numbers racing by too fast to count.