The Slow Day

All is quiet on the store front. If I were a cheesmo novelist, this is where the narrator would write, "Yes... perhaps too quiet..."

A fly hovers dangerously close to my ear, begging to be killed; I happily oblige, despite the pang of guilt I know will follow. "Too quiet" never lasts long enough, anyway - and when it does, it's overrated. Fans blowing in every direction keep the hot air circulating almost as quickly as my thoughts race. I wonder what it would look like if I stuck my boss' finger in those fan blades...

*CLICK*

I snap back to the sweltering reality as a young girl in a hooded sweatshirt pulls a gun from her pocket and demands all the money in my till. She's cute; pink studs in her nose as well as one of her lips, above which her eyes betray the faintest hint of a smile masked by world-weary sneer. But there's a subdued twinkle about those blue orbs which speaks of a mind left too long to wander alone in the absence of creative stimuli... and maybe of an unhealthy amount of experience under the covers (or maybe on the dining room table); it's unconscious, sure - but this is definitely the kind of girl who mentally undresses a person before she shakes his hand for the first time.Why am I noticing this now? Idiot.

In a brief moment of fantasy, I imagine that I could be unsure whether she's going to shoot me or leap over the counter and tear my clothes to shreds in equally violent fashion. But being me, I'd be more likely shot than sexed up as a general rule... and money is the most effective sex symbol in any event. Just my damned luck.

So I open the cash drawer, look her in the eye and tell her, "I guess you need this more than I do." She only blinks once before extending her other hand. I drop a pile of bills into those pretty clutches, suppressing my instinct to count them out to her like I would with any old customer. After all, this girl is special. Nice... black nail polish. Goes great with the pink - good look for her.

"You want the coin, too?" I asked, "or a piece of gum?" I nod towards the pack of Juicyfruit half-hiding behind my chai tea; she reaches over the counter and grabs the whole pack without missing a beat. "It's cool, I didn't want any - haven't been in the mood today," I offered. She shot me a bored, dirty look. It was the kind of look that said, 'I'm ansy enough to do just about anything right now... anything,' and it was so cute I would've laughed if the barrel of that Desert Eagle of hers hadn't still been lingering in my general direction. Where the hell did she get such a nice gun? Maybe she'll come back and rob me again sometime, and I can ask her.

Ignoring my question about the coin, she pops a stick of gum into her mouth, pausing before chewing for just long enough to absentmindedly nibble on her lower lip. Perfect form. She didn't even realize she did it. That'll be a hard image to forget.

"Take it easy..." I call to her as she saunters nonchalantly out the door, oozing that effortless and natural grace unique to women who never developed the flaw of taking themselves too seriously. She hangs a sharp left and starts running as she passes the alley adjacent to the store, and I can't help but regret not being able to watch her. Those hips...

*SNAP!*

Shit. It takes me a few seconds to realize what just happened. Shit, shit, shit! It's a little bit funny, in a morbid way; you'd expect even a small, compact explosion to make more of a "BOOM" and less of a timid popping noise, but I got used to that strangeness a long time ago. Not wanting to look outside for fear I'll be tempted to pick up one of her piercings as a souvenier—assuming her head ended up mostly intact—I curse myself for once again forgetting to switch my chewing gum back out with the explosive stuff I use so much of. Op-tech is not gonna be happy that I blew a whole pack on accident. Fuuuuck!

(Somewhere in lower Manhattan, Kopir the heroin dealer won't receive the surprise I'd hoped he wouldn't be expecting. At least his kid made off with a free pack of gum.) I spent 3 hours hiding in the bushes—and rolled in cat shit at least twice—to get into his place. God damn it! Lot of good those cameras are going to do now. Maybe they'll catch a round of the ol' boy's partying with the colorful local women he enjoys so much. Some IT nerd in an unmarked van is gonna have a good night.

As I dial the police, I wonder how the hell I got through 3 hours of work without wanting a piece of gum; what're the odds of that kind of good fortune? As if my life wasn't dangerous enough already... I think I need a new oral fixation. With that thought in mind, I begin telling the operator about the girl who'd just robbed me and then, quite suddenly—quite strangely—exploded. Or at least that's what it seemed like to me. I mean, I'm just the clerk, right?

Yeah, I definitely need a new focus for my oral fixation.