During the summer of 1977 I was 5-years old. My family decided to take a vacation in the family car, all the way cross country from California to Georgia.
One night, about 3 days into the trip, we pulled in to an all-night diner in some podunk little Texas town. It was pretty late, but I was still awake and I took my dad's hand and followed him inside the place. While he was ordering coffee and food to go, I slipped away and wandered across the diner to a side door. I opened it slightly and peeked outside. There was a van parked there and two guys sitting up front smoking. They both saw me and started calling me over. "Hey little feller, c'mon over here. I've got a dollar for ya." and the like. But I got scared and ran back to my dad. I didn't say anything because I was worried he'd be mad at me for sneaking off.
About 20-years later I saw those same 2 guys again on TV. I was watching a Biography on the serial killers Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole.
I came that close man. That fucking close.