The biker started pumping gas into the crying girl’s car and she begged him to stop before her boyfriend came back. I was filling up my Harley at the station when I heard her panicked voice. “Please, sir, please don’t. He’ll think I asked you for help. He’ll get so angry.”

She was maybe nineteen or twenty. Blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Mascara running down her face. Standing next to a beat-up Honda with an empty gas tank, counting coins in her shaking hands. She had maybe three dollars in quarters and dimes.

Continues…