It certainly seems like a logical question since he did little to actually describe the person in question. He thinks nothing of it, not expecting any kind of suspicion to be cast in his direction because—
"He looked... fit," which is Blake's way of saying he noted the physique first. And why shouldn't he have? "Apple bottom jeans, boots with the spurs," he jokes without joking. "No shirt, and he was wearin' his Stetson in a surprisin' way." It's only because Stetson is the only brand of cowboy hat Blake can think of that he gets it right, like sheer luck spent in the wrong place. Figures.
Leaning back his gaze grazes the selection of gums and candies and lighters spread before him, all those impulse purchases looking familiar but not. He's trying to decide if he's got enough for something else. Because, yes, he's imagined this place takes money like anywhere else gas station shaped.
Maybe he just needs a Snickers™️. Or... a Cackles™️ as it seems to be called here, which he places up on the counter, too. What's the damage? More than he has. He's almost hoping for a little pity.
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"He looked... fit," which is Blake's way of saying he noted the physique first. And why shouldn't he have? "Apple bottom jeans, boots with the spurs," he jokes without joking. "No shirt, and he was wearin' his Stetson in a surprisin' way." It's only because Stetson is the only brand of cowboy hat Blake can think of that he gets it right, like sheer luck spent in the wrong place. Figures.
Leaning back his gaze grazes the selection of gums and candies and lighters spread before him, all those impulse purchases looking familiar but not. He's trying to decide if he's got enough for something else. Because, yes, he's imagined this place takes money like anywhere else gas station shaped.
Maybe he just needs a Snickers™️. Or... a Cackles™️ as it seems to be called here, which he places up on the counter, too. What's the damage? More than he has. He's almost hoping for a little pity.