Looking up from the job section of her editorial, Jo all of a sudden got a really bad vibe from the guy talking her to her. For some reasons, he reminded her of someone she had met a while back. What was his name? She wondered. Letsblat or somethin'. Huh. Must have been some ordinary guy for her to forget, although that nagging feeling Jo got told her it was probably the opposite.
Folding up her newspaper nicely and carefully, Jo took a quick inventory. Most of her gear was in the truck. Which meant that she was screwed. She checked herself again. Her knife was ever handy in her back pocket. That was a good thing, normally. The gun she had stuffed into her jacket was still heavy there too, although how much ammo she had in there wasn't really clear.
Her shotgun was in her truck, right in the front seat. That was her main weapon, really. Loaded with rock salt rounds and all. Ah fuck.
"Can I help you?" she asked innocently in her Southern drawl. Using one hand, she took the newspaper and made to put it in her back pocket. Normally she would have reached for her gun, but that was only after he attacked. The knife was just for insurance. "And I'd watch it, sunshine. That mouth ain't gettin' you nowhere fast."
Ah, the days of rock and roll and beer packs meant to get into her pants. She hoped this was one of them, because quite frankly, it had been a while since she had shot down a guy.