Hey, guys, remember to offer a little feedback on the posts before yours. Part of this is to help one another improve.
@axa_reads I think this is a cute interaction, even if it wasn’t entirely meant to be. I envisioned him rubbing at his hair, deliberating whether to be a gentleman or not.
@DomiSotto Is there a third person in this scene? And what were they afraid of?
@AlissaZayan yay for reckless decisions! What is the background here? That sort of medical discussion doesn’t seem like the kind that would normally take place on a stoop.
By the time we parked at the gas pump, I was on pins and needles. I wasn’t sure if I was scared or excited. I couldn’t believe we were going to do this. The whole way I’d been playing scenarios in my mind. They’d all ended with us getting arrested or burned at the stake, because of course that was a completely logical conclusion to reach in the year of our Lord, 1990
Jay was keeping it cool. If he was faking it, it was the best job he’d ever done pretending to be completely nonchalant. He handed Dennis, the gas attendant, his ten spot as he got out of the Rover. I didn’t see any glimmer of magic as he passed it off. At least he was holding up to only trying to do this inside. He sauntered into the convenience store like he owned it. I followed him in, waiting for our certain doom to befall us. I’m sure I looked frantic.
Roger Bentley had robbed this store more than once over the years. As a result, Mr. Woodberry seemed to believe Jay was also a thief. Since I was there with Jay, I was guilty by associated association if there was such a thing. It didn’t help that I had called him out for overcharging me on a magazine a few months before. His reason- “Well it just makes up for whatever you stole.” In his mind, the two of us were nothing but street urchins taking his precious backcountry bodega right out from under him.
I kept close to Jay as he made his lazy trek through the store. Mr. Woodberry only took a minute to start following us around as well. Jay started with a nice long show of flipping through a Hustler magazine which he wasn’t old enough to buy. Of course he made a point of showing “the articles” to me as I waited for him to get a move on. Jay then snagged chips, a pair of candy bars, a bottle of soda and one of those questionable roller hot dogs, taking his sweet time as he went. I grabbed a soda. I was too nervous to even think about getting more. Once he seemed satisfied he’d wasted enough of Woodberry’s time, he took my drink from me and headed for the counter.
Mr. Woodberry, a man whose face was 40% eyebrows and a solid 20% nose hair, scowled at us as Jay put our purchases on the counter. “Empty your pockets,” he growled at us. Neither of us balked at this. This might as well have been how he greeted any customer under the age of 75.