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Dismal Deluge

Mona's keys jingled as she stuffed them into one of the pockets of her green cargo jacket. Her car was was almost ancient and in need of some repairs. It often jolted as she drove and each time she attempted to shut the door, it would rebound until she finally slammed it. "Oh lord. I'm so sick of this," she brooded and hid her hands in her sleeves. It was cold, the sun barely penetrated through the early morning clouds and she could distinctly smell the wet pavement of the parking lot.


The bell above of her tinged as she opened the entrance to the convenience store


She slipped out of her jacket, tying it securely around her waste. Out of her pants pocket, she pulled out her name tag and adjusted its pin to her shirt while walking drearily behind the counter.


Mona let out a weary sigh and stared out the glass entrance. The only car in sight was her own. "Why do i get such crappy hours?" Mona banged her head against the counter and moped.
 
The sunlight that managed to sneak out from behind the clouds peaked into the garage and Horace's head swivelled towards the window. Had he really stayed up the entire night? Had he really spent over ten hours mucking around with different head gaskets, trying to fix up his stupid little Python motorcycle? Well, the peaking sun definitely seemed to say that. He reached over for a wrench and grabbed onto the empty cigarette box instead. Oh yeah, he kind of needed more of those didn't he?


Horace stood and walked over to the mirror beside his door, taking in his appearance. Blah. He looked like he always did. So what?


Walking over to the little store, he took note of the people that stared at him. One. Two. He decided that whoever the fifth person was, he'd punch them in the face. Just because he could. Hey, if he was lucky, he might get beat up.


Three.


The store was open, miraculously at this godforsaken hour, and he strode up to the counter. Some man bumped into him and they locked eyes.


Four.


He avoided looking towards the cashier, nodding wordlessly at the cigarettes behind the girl working the register. God, they let teens sell cigs now? How depressing... Unless she was one of those kids that was actually older than they looked. Like that chick from the movie 'Orphan.' That had freaked him out immensely.


"Philip Morris. Don't you dare cheat me with all that taxes bull," he groaned, his voice hoarse and gruff from lack of use. He was digging around in his pockets for his wallet. he hadn't left it, had he? Ugh...
 
Mona fervently tapped her her index finger on the side of the register. "Geez, he's taking forever," She was growing impatient watching the grubby looking man fumble through his pockets. So many annoying customers. She's worked in retail long enough to recognize the varies types of stupidity in customers:


The one that complains to get free things, the one that bargains, and the worst, the one that takes too long to pay .


"So are you gonna pay or what?" She felt a sudden pound in her chest. "Oh dang. did I say that out loud?" Despite her anxiousness her face only showed indifference.
 
The light tap of her finger on the register managed to irk him, forcing him to dig around even more in his pockets. Once. Twice. Crap. It just wasn't on him. Horace looked over at the little packets behind the counter and down to his feet. Her voice managed to grate him, especially when she asked if she was going to pay or not. "Guess not, sugar," he responded.


With a sigh, he turned and walked out of the store. God, how could he forget his stupid wallet? Now, he was doing this ridiculous walk of shame towards the little garage right across the street. Convenient? Yes. Was he happy about having to go back? Absolutely not. Whoever had been in line to pay after him had just seen this guy walk out without getting to pay. His face would probably have gone red if that sort of tint was visible on his skin.


As he entered the store, a man was walking behind him. Fifth person he'd punch. Horace let the door slam behind him and he would've happily gone to the register and just gotten his cigs, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. "You know, people normally hold the door for someone else when they see 'em coming."


Horace turned and saw the man's face. Five. His fist locked with the man's jaw and the other was sent towards the snack aisle. "Done." He walked over to the register, ready to pay, waiting for the small line to advance.
 
The man seemed to stumble backwards so suddenly and was hit with such force, Mona thought for sure he would knock over the entire aisle. The customers in line, including the one she was still attending to to scattered and ran out the door.


She bit her lip and cringed ever so slightly as she heard a loud THUMP. Her attention turned to same the grubby man from before. Was this guy a sociopath? He punched a complete stranger without a second thought and went about his business as if nothing had happened!


"I think you need to leave," her voice was stern and she looked him straight in the eye.
 
And now he was being kicked out. He could look at the girl now. So he did. Boyish. Flat. Definitely a teenager. There was no way she'd even be able to hand him his cigarettes. "You aren't being paid to think," he snapped, grabbing six dollars and putting them on the counter, "You're being paid to make a sale. I'm a customer, and I want some Philips Morris."





Ugh, why was everyone being so difficult? Firstly, the guy he'd punched had just taken it for no freaking reason. No fight, no argument, nothing to make him feel like he was actually alive in this place, rotting away and feeling absolutely dismal. He bit his lip, wondering if he should've just taken the packet before, ran and let the cops find him. Jail was decent... He got phone calls, free food, and a free roof over his head. It wasn't any less lonely than this stupid place.


"Well, are you going to hurry up or should I call your manager?" he grunted, his eyes narrowing. Stupid high school kid. She was probably not even old enough to buy some of the merchandise she was selling. Who the hell did she think she was telling him to leave?
 
There a moment of silence.


Mona pinched the bridge of her nose gave the man a condescending chuckle. She combed her bangs back with her bangs back with her fingers and her face straightened. " Sir. You just sucker punched a man unconscious. You see that right there?" She pointed the a white sign behind her. In bold red letters it said, Employees have the right to refuse service to ANYONE. "I can do whatever DAMN well I please you psycho!" Mona swiftly took a packet of cigarettes and held it tauntingly in front of him "You want this? Go get it yourself!" The pack slid and stopped near the exit. Mona took his money and crumpled it in her hands. She ordered to him to leave once more before putting the money in the cash register.
 
Sucker punched a man unconscious? Had he really? That was... cool. He'd never done that before. He was almost tempted to look back and see what he'd done when bratty teen decided to point to an idiotic sign. Right to refuse service. And then she had the audacity to curse at him. But then worst came to worst and she decided that teasing him would be the best plan of action.


Have mercy on my soul, he thought, looking up to the ceiling for some divine intervention. None whatsoever. Okay... He took a deep breath and walked over to the exit, picking up his newly purchased but now filthy box. She was going to apologise. She was going to apologise.


And so, he sauntered over to the register once more, baring his teeth at the woman that was approaching the register. "I'll take my change now. Thirteen cents," he said monotonously, eyeing the girl... Ramona, according to her name tag. "You should know I fully expect an apology for being mistreated. Regardless, your little establishment here is getting a nasty review on Yelp."
 
Mona sighed deeply. The register clicked when she opened it. She took a dime and three pennies and slid them towards the stranger. She slightly calmer now, but she was still peeved with the way this man seemed to carry himself.


"You think you're better than everyone else, yet you probably still hate yourself don't you?"


"You're the one who's been mistreated?" Her hand was still placed on this surface of the coins. "You apologize to that guy and I'll apologize to you." Her head gestured to the injured customer regaining consciousness. He groaned, rubbing her head and struggling to sit up.
 
Well, her attitude was fading. It was definitely an improvement, at least in comparison to her horrible personality. Horace took his change and found himself glaring at her much more than he intended. Especially after her snarky comment. Did she not understand the basics of customer service? He'd worked one job in retail before, if this could even be called retail, and he'd always been told to be complacent. "Customer's always right... that phrase mean anything to you, Ramona?" he hissed.


"I didn't ask to be forced to defend myself in your petty argument. If you need someone to apologise to him so much, do it yourself," he snarled, leaning over the counter, closer and closer to her. As he inched closer, he saw hints of age in her face, betraying his assumption that she was a teenager. Ah damn it. Teenagers were so much easier to intimidate.


He stuffed his change in his pocket and walked over to the exit, pulling the man up on his way out. No words were spoken between them, but at least he hadn't left the man on the floor. He was decent enough for that... Horace took in the view of the dilapidated street and pulled out his trusty lighter and one of his little companions. Smoke right outside the store... That'll show her!
 

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