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It was cold. I was in a park, smoking, drinking coffee, half-listening to the Spanish talk all around to me. I had seven hundred dollars of vindictus gold in my socks, after getting paid today I would have enough to get the Gibson back, and after Monday and Tuesday.
I had have to go back to Dallas, and then suddenly an angry shout came from behind the trailer, then another. The lot quickly fell silent. Then the Spanish started up again and most of men walked over and looked behind the trailer but as soon they did they started leaving, some running, and in about two minutes the place was deserted except for me.
I kept watching the trailer, about fifteen yards away. Nothing. I could not hear anything either but the hum of the arc lights. I did not know what to do. I was kind of scared, but I had to try to work that day, no matter what happened, so I decided to stay where I was and wait for P to show up.
I started to light another cigarette, then footsteps sounded on the gravel and a man staggered around the side of the trailer. He was clutching his side and when she saw me he said something in Spanish. He was big, at least three hundred and looked like a bear coming toward me. Then he just stopped and stood there. I could hear his breathing. He sank to his knees like a camel sitting down and fell over. 
For about a hundred and fifty, I would have left. I went over to him. He had rolled onto his back and when he saw me standing over him he started talking in Spanish. He had a rip in the side of his thin jacket and there were dark stains around it. I took off my denim coat and kneeled down, and when he saw what I was doing he moved his hands and let me use the coat as a compress. Some warm blood soaked into the denim, but not much. He seemed more panicked than anything. He just kept on jabbering. 
Then I heard other voices when I came to, two Mexicans were standing a few yards away, at the edge of the light.

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