Asif’s eyes were large and smoldering brown and his eyelids darkened as if they had been shaded with kohl. His sultry olive complexion was flawless under a mop of curly black hair. Now 25, he had matured into a striking young man. He had brought Asif over from somewhere in the Arab world when he turned 18. His uncle Abdul owned the Gas ‘n Go station he worked at. He spoke very little English, but always enough to say “Hello” and “Thank You Kindly“. He was always polite, greeting me warmly whenever I pulled the Volvo up to the pump.
