The guy behind the counter was Puerto Rican and looked like Fabian. The security guard was black. His shirt was open to reveal an undershirt and a Star of David. Two Indian kids were haggling over who would pay the lion’s share of the cost of a pack of Now & Later candy. A white guy with a tank top and a “you toucha the shirt, I breaka the face” attitude had his arm around a girl with big blond hair and a black Madonna belly-button shirt. One of his fingers was tucked underneath her shirt, giving her the illusion of possessing two nipples on one breast. They were looking through car magazines.
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Everything was pretty quiet at the 24-hour gas-station mini-mart until the Oriental guy walked in and slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter.
“Ten dollars,” the Oriental fellow repeated. He had a cheesy mustache and a tan Members Only jacket.
“Very simple, sir. You pumped a dollar. You cleared it. Then you pumped ten dollars.”
“I am trying to get this guy to pay his goddamn dollar.”
The guy in the black tank top and his girlfriend approached the counter and tried to mediate.
“Fuck that,” said the guy in the Megadeth shirt.
