He nodded his head, he hadn't finished it yet.
She tried to add a pause to her sentence, "Give... to me."
Still, he declined.
She changed her tone of voice, "Give to... me?"
"Listen lady, I'm not done drinking it. Come back in ten minutes."
"Give to me."
He wagged his finger. She stepped slightly out of his peripheral vision, though he knew she was watching him.
Can hunting is like looking for a parking spot in a crowded lot. You look until you find a car that seems like it is about to leave, and you wait.
You know that there might be a spot twenty feet ahead that is readily available, but you wait. Patience is the mentality of the can-collector.
She waited, and it made him slightly uneasy. Not that he feared this toothless old woman with a sun hat and a bag full of crushed cans, he just didn't appreciate being rushed. After all, consuming alcohol in public in the middle of the day is tedious as it is. He didn't want to be rushed. Unlike the can collector, patience isn't one of his strong points.
He turned to look at her, and raised his arms above his head.
She walked off to where another can collector had laid down her can collection at the moment, and began to rifle through it for the most desirable of crushed aluminum.
As he watched her, she looked over, smiled, and gave him a thumbs up.
He walked over, crushed the can, and handed it to her.
"Tank jew."
"You're welcome."
Thus concluding his interaction with this particular can collector, but there will be more. So many more.
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