It's sixteen minutes after three in the morning and you've just been thrown out of the bar after you realized that once again you have miscounted the number of beers you drank and now you don't have enough money to pay your tab. You apologized profusely and gave the cute blonde bartender all of the money in your wallet but it wasn't enough to prevent the meathead bouncer from blacking your eye before he threw you out the door and into the parking lot, where you landed in a cold puddle of muddy water and motor oil.
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Pissed off and hungry, you drive to the twenty-four hour Super Wal-Mart. Your intention is to shoplift something to eat, a deli sandwich, or maybe one of those really big microwaveable burritos, but your soggy and oil-stained clothes and your swollen purple shiner make this task exceptionally difficult, even at this late hour. You've drawn the attention of one of the stock boys, a pimply-faced young man who looks as if he's got something to prove to the world, or at least his shift manager. He's following you.
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You wander the aisles aimlessly in an attempt to lose him, but he stays right on your ass. You're beginning to think you might have to detour to the restrooms where you can put some cold paper towels on your eye and hopefully shake him off in the process, when you come upon the girl in the arts and crafts aisle.
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She's pretty, hot even, (at least by your minimal standards) and because she's looking at paint-by-number sets and velvet felt tip marker posters at just after four in the morning it's a safe bet she's tweaked out of her mind, which means you might be able to score in one way or the other.
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"How would you like to buy me a nice big Waffle House breakfast?" you ask her as you walk up. "I'll bet I'm a lot more fun than arts and crafts." "I doubt it." she replies, checking you out and taking in the whole picture. Your soiled clothes, black eye, and slightly nervous grin.
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Deciding you look relatively harmless she decides to toy with you a bit. "If I buy you breakfast, what are you gonna do for me, huh?" "I'm sure we can work something out." you say.
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Just then she notices the stock boy, who's been lurking at the end of the aisle, watching this pathetic scene unfold. "I gotta go." she says, suddenly uneasy. "What's the rush?" you ask. You reach out to stop her as she begins to quickly walk away and end up with a handful of her coat, which pulls back. A jumbo pack of markers and a few paintbrushes spill out and hit the floor.
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"I knew it!" cries the pimply-faced boy triumphantly, as if it was her he was after all along. He heads down the aisle towards the two of you, almost skipping in his exuberance. "Stay right there!" he orders in his best I'm-in-charge-here voice.
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Without thinking about what you're doing you give him a hard right hook to his greasy chin, with all your anger at the meathead bouncer (who was just too damn big to hit) behind it, and he goes down hard.
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"Run!" you yell, but she's already headed for the door.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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