@Carlsbergyoutube.com/watch?v=3UWIN_MI7BwJust down the block from the alley she and Mike always hung out at, either bullshitting or passing around a spliff and a fifth of Jack, there was a little convenience store owned by a Middle Eastern man in his early seventies. He had left his native Kuwait back in the 1990s when Saddam's Republican Guard came storming in, and moved he and his family to America to start a new life. His wife, Aisha, died in 2004 after complications due to psoriasis of the liver and his two kids, one a doctor and the other a respected Wall Street banker, moved away to attend college in New York, leaving him to his own. Since then, his store had been robbed nearly three times, the last attempt getting him a bullet in his left shoulder.
Ahmed, the store's owner, once caught her trying to shoplift there as well. She was sure the moment she was caught trying to stuff bags of potato chips and whatever else into her duffel, he was gonna call the police. He didn't however, strangely enough. Liz just had to pay him back for the stolen goods. It wasn't easy scrounging up twenty bucks, but she somehow managed it.
"Eyy back again ah?" He said to her as she entered the place, his native dialect ever thick. Liz just smiled wryly to the old Muslim at his counter and continued on to the back to the coffee machine, her smile fading into a displeasing frown when she saw a piece of paper taped over it reading OUT OF ORDER scrawled rather crude in black sharpie.
"I fix it tomorrow. Need new part." Ahmed hollered. Merely Liz sighed.
Fuck, and I was hoping for at least my usual. At least there were donuts left, two glazed and one chocolate covered. That should be enough. She grabbed two cokes out of the freezer as well.
"$5.79" He said ringing it all up.
'You need sack?""Nah, I'm good." Liz replied.
"Later." And out the door she went, just as the sun was cresting over the tall shadows of the nearby apartment complexes. A speeding police cruiser caught her off guard somewhat, lights blazing and sirens belting out the battle cry of justice, or...some sort of justice since half the cops in this city were dirty badges. She wondered where they were off to in such a hurry, a wreck? a domestic dispute gone to Hell? An overdose? Another gang shooting or homicide? Either way, she watched it pass on as she kept walking...unfortunately not noticing she was about to crash into someone.
"Fuck!" She bumbled into the girl at full force, knocking one of the coke bottles loose and shattering it against the cracked and filthy concrete below her.
"Dammit! Fucking cereal?"" She muttered to herself, already to her knees picking up broken glass, some of it cutting her fingers a little, not that it bothered her.
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