There had been three scratch marks down his cheek. Two of the marks had faded,
but the middle scratch must have been the deepest, because it still remained.
It was a jagged purple line running from below his eye to below his mouth, like a tattoo of a scar.
Stanley waited in line, then handed him his canteen. Mr. Sir held it up to his ear and shook it.
He smiled at the swishing sound. Stanley hoped he wouldn’t dump it out.
To his surprise, Mr. Sir held the canteen under the stream of water and filled it. “Wait here,” he said.
Still holding Stanley’s canteen, Mr. Sir walked past him, then went around the side of the truck and into the cab, where he couldn’t be seen.
“What’s he doing in there?” asked Zero. “I wish I knew,” said Stanley.
A short while later, Mr. Sir came out of the truck and handed Stanley his canteen. It was still full.
“Thank you, Mr. Sir.” Mr. Sir smiled at him. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Drink up.”
He popped some sunflower seeds into his mouth, chewed, and spit out the shells. Stanley was afraid to drink it.
He hated to think what land of vile substance Mr. Sir might have put in it.
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