posted on May, 13 2013 @ 05:52 PM
The lady behind the counter looks at me, or rather through me to the rack full of potato chips and a large assortment of dips. The change is placed in
my hand, but that one coin always seems to slip through the space between my third and fourth fingers. At home her mother is watching two children
made mostly of screaming and terror. The boiling water bubbles over the top of the pot, causing a hissing sound that rattles her out of her anger long
enough to remove from heat. They will be having mac and cheese. The regular, one would say. Of the children, one is 6 the other 4, both with hair as
yellow as the generic box their meal is kept in. Hyperactive is an understatement. As for grandma, she is a widow. The kind of grandma you can
imagine. It doesn't matter, imagine any grandma and that's her. Typical ol' grandma. Downstairs there lives a sex offender. And he peeks out of the
blinds every afternoon at around 2:45. (the mother works at three) sees the two little ones with hands held by grandmother enter the complex.
The complex, which in and of itself is a rundown box of drug dealers and prostitue sellers. The man, we'll call him Russel for the time being, later
his name becomes the numbers printed on the back of an orange jumpsuit. Anyways, Russel counts the steps the three take up to the place above him.
Next to him lay gloves, and a sharp object. ''Today is the day'' he thinks to himself. His lips are dry. The t.v. blares. He climbs the stair
quietly and is just in front of the door. And here i am pissed off that this Damn girl cant put the receipt UNDER the change so it doesn't slip
through my third and fourth fingers. I curse under my breath and leave quickly, i need to put more gas in my hummer, yeah, H3. My rolex reads 3:15.