Billandhisfriendsaregoinghikingthisweekend.He’safraidhe’sgoingtobehungry,sohebuysalotoffoodandhisbagisbigandheavy.Theystartatnineinthemorningandtheygettothecityfivehourslater.They’realltiredandhisfriendsgetonabus,butBillcan’t.Hisbagsticksinthedoorandhehastogetoff.Thebusleavesandhedoesn’tknowwherehe’sgoingtomeetthem.Hewalksinthestreetandwhenit’seightintheevening,hegoesintoarestaurant.Heasksforsomedrinksandsoonbeginstosleep.
Whenhewakesupatthemidnight,hecan’tfindanypeopleintherestaurant.Thedoorisclosedandhecan’tgoout.HefindsatelephonenumberonapieceofpaperandbeginstocallMr.Jackson,theowneroftherestaurant.
“Hello,”saystheboy,“Whendoyouopenyourrestaurant,Mr.Jackson?”
Thetelephonewakesthemanupandheisn’thappy.Sohesays,“Don’taskmeaboutthat.Iwon’tletyouin.”
“Oh,no!Iwanttogoout.”
