“Here.” He held a plastic bottle, twisted the top with a sharp crack, and handed it to me. “Drink. You need to replenish. I had little choice,” he said apologetically.
I took the water, finding I was extremely thirsty, and before I realized that I didn't have gloves on, I drank down several gulps before a vision slammed into me.
Vasyl stood in front of a brightly lit pop machine. He examined it all over, trying to unravel the mystery of how it opened. Giving up in frustration, he grabbed the sides of the machine, shook it some, and while on-lookers stood by gaping at him, he ripped the entire front of the machine off; plastic bottles of soda in various colors and flavors spilled out and rolled everywhere.
Quickly he chose a bottle of water. Then, stepping over to a snack machine, he ripped the front of it off. Candy bars and bags of chips fell everywhere.
“Righteous!” someone in dreadlocks cheered. No one moved forward, but the crowd that had gathered greedily eyed the snacks and drinks. Those several paces away snatched up the bottles that had rolled towards them before running from the scene.
Vasyl chose a few more things from the mess on the ground. As soon as he flashed away — like Super Man — a dozen people dove on the spilled candy and drinks.
The bottle fell from my hands, and would have dropped to the barn floor had Vasyl's quick reflexes not caught it. We stared at one another.
“You took my gloves,” I said, somewhat vexed.