Once in the store Muse looked about, took some potato chips and started to eat them without paying; the old man looked a Muse about ready to say how much he owed, I think, and Muse kicked the potato chip stand so hard the potato chip bags, they all went flying, onto the floor. Muse was two hundred and eighty pounds, perhaps six-foot seven inches tall; the old man, five-foot eight, probably 175 pounds; next Muse opened up a bottle of Coke and started drinking it down, without breathing in one long gulp. Again the old man was about to say something, but Muse yelled

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And the old man looked, stared, somewhat glary-eyed, look intently at Muse as if he was a religious man of some kind, you know a convinced assurance this was not the end of this tribulation, almost a remorseless gleam in his eyes, something strange to me, I continued however to keep a careful distance away from this occurrence. I kind of knew now, what my uncle was trying to tell me, his look steadily grew more solid and distinct, till at last I could trace that monstrous outline with an uncomfortable ease in his face. Muse saw nothing, just wanted to show off, and he ended up doing a good job of it.

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