There was a double set of gas pumps for each island.  At my island ahead of me was an old man filling up a brown oldsmobile. Shorts, yellow golf shirt tucked into beige shorts.  Tan shoes, black socks.  Black clip on sunglasses.  Fisherman hat.  Large, bulbous gut stretching out his special yellow shirt.

And a psychotic thought passively floated through my mind as I sailed up to the pump, "END IT NOW."  I envisioned just letting off the break and instead mashing the gas pedal down, peeling into the rear end of the brown olds, screaming, "EAT IT OLD MAN!  EAT IT!"

For no reason whatsoever.  And then just cackling about it.  Maybe hoping for some sort of an explosion.

I'm not really sure what I would have been ending.  Most likely my airbag would deploy and I'd have a mess to clean up, disabling my car and leaving a nasty dented rear fender on his automobile.  As I hit the brake I noticed that his gray haired wife behind the wheel.

I suppose I would have smoked her out, but what good is that?  She can't even pump her own gas.  She'll die soon, anyway.

I couldn't stop cackling about it.  Just make his car disappear right in front of him, in some sort of sado/masachistic automotive magic trick. Blind, unreasoning stupidity. 

But I really didn't want to hurt the old lady.  Not that this is what stopped me.