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You shake your head. 'No thanks, I'm still full from breakfast.' 'Oh, but I insist!' he says. 'You could save it for later?' He's smiling broadly but there's a sense of desperation to it. 'No, really,' you say. 'I don't even like pretzels that much anyway. Happy Christmas.' You start walking, and he calls after you: 'Clyde Langer! You will regret it! My pretzels are the best!' Your heart is pounding now, and you wonder whether you should run. You can see the bright lights of the rest of the market in the distance. You want to run. This is just too freaky, you need to get away. Running shows him you're scared. Better to walk, quickly but calmly. |