The conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door

Knock, knock! I hear at the apartment door. "Joe, let me call you back," I say. "Sorry, there's someone at the door." I hang up the phone and open the door.

When I open the door, there is a tall, thin, well-dressed dark skinned man with a gas can in his hand. He's an older black man, probably in his 50s, wearing a black suit and tie and a hat on his head. Despite his age, he's fairly handsome in that older man type of way. He has a very kind face, and he smiles when I pull open the door.

"Hi," he says in a soft, gentle voice, "I've run out of gas; would you be kind enough to let me syphon some from your car to get mine going?"