Jacob was driving on the Night Road.
He became nervous, as President Reagan's speech was on television. He smoked a cigarette, as the signs led from Dayton, Ohio, to Wisconsin. He stopped near the Roadhouse, where late night truckers were sipping coffee, and eating hamburgers; he looked at the Gas Station. He pulled up, and filled the car. He paid for the gas, as he saw the drug-affected hoodlum with a rifle in his right hand. 'Get on the ground now', the criminal yelled. 427Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgRAkefqTXa
Of all of the nights for something to happen, death's bony hands had reached for him, and he screamed. 'Hey, what's wrong with you?', the armed robber asked. Jacob went into an epileptic seizure, and everything went dark.427Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡij3u8vjM9s
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Jacob didn't know what was going on.427Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAWhrUDINXs
Was he dead, or shot? This was America; this was something out of his favorite TV show Hill Street Blues. He watched the SWAT team burst through the door. Their eyes were focused on Jacob. New York Homicide Detective Rachael Myerson gazed at the stricken man. 'Get medical help. Secure the scene'. She shot the robber dead. More screams happened, as it was now 8:00 PM.
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