The store was empty as I began locking up. Seeing that there were tons of chocolate bars lying around, I took a few; no one would know. Anyways, we lost pretty much everything when we got robbed by Jojo the dog-faced boy earlier today. Holy lord, what a mess.The jingle of the door chimes interrupted my reflection.
"Hey. Is it too late to get a Lotto 666 ticket?" My god a customer! And my store in such a state..."Not at all" I responded. Just then the telephone rang.
"Can I get that? I'm expecting a call" asked the gentleman. He looked well dressed and responsible enough so I let him answer it."Carlito! Damn, how's the drug cartel, ese?" he said as he drifted into conversation.As I stuffed the last chocolate bar down my pants, a squeal of tires screeched past the broken shambles that was my store. Walking outside, I happened to see the screeching car ram into a telephone pole. 3 disoriented teens got out the back of the car, stumbled towards me and asked if they could use my bathroom to wash off the blood of the deceased driver. I didn't see why not."Sure go ahead."
As I re-entered the store, the well-dressed chap had just hung up the phone."It was for me" he said as I handed him his lottery ticket from the tray. As he walked out, he was recognized by one of the teens who, in a flash, whipped out a baseball bat and proceeded to pound the lotto-man in the crotchal area. After the rest of them had joined in and taken turns in the beating, they nabbed some chips and ran off. I took the opportunity to search the gentleman near death. Apparently, he was a tax collector on his way to (according to a blood-stained memo) the residence of 4 tax-dodging teen delinquents who, in an attempt to avoid him, had escaped in their car and run into a telephone pole.
So naturally there would be hostile feelings on both sides.
I cleared my brain with an emergency tequila I kept behind the counter and passed out. When I woke up the store was gone.
Goddamn that Jojo.