What do you mean...
WHO: Conner and Jared
WHEN: June 3rd, late afternoon
WHERE: Random liquor store
WHAT: How the hell do you run out of cigarettes in a liquor store?
RATING: S and AS for swearing and angry smokers
Conner tapped out the last cig in his pack, eying the empty carton mournfully. Somehow his stash had disappeared, even though he was sure no one had been in his apartment for a while. Had he been that stressed lately? Chain smoking like a maniac probably tended to deplete your 15 carton stash to one cigarette fairly quickly within a week. Probably from the full house on Memorial Day too. Fuck that’d been hectic.
Sighing, he lit up and grabbed his keys and wallet. Maybe he’d stop by Beth’s on the not so much way and feed the guy’s fish. It wasn’t like he could leave it thereto fend for itself. He was just thankful it wasn’t a dog or something. Then he’d have to actually take care of the thing. All you needed to do with fish was feed then… right?
Down the fire escape (be sure to lock the window), out the alley and down the street (since he didn’t have the best depth perception and couldn’t drive or ride a bike). A few turns down various streets, a familiar path as any for this smoker.
The Irish-man took a last drag of his cigarette and snubbed it out on an ashtray conveniently placed by the liquor store doors and pushed inside, wincing at the annoying bell. “Hey…” he approached the counter, glad no one else was inside yet and leaned one elbow on the paned glass above the Scratchers. “Gimme tae boxes o’ the usual, Dennis.” Conner went to pull out his wallet when he was stopped by words no chain smoker out of his brand wants to hear.
“Sorry Conner. Fresh out.”
WHEN: June 3rd, late afternoon
WHERE: Random liquor store
WHAT: How the hell do you run out of cigarettes in a liquor store?
RATING: S and AS for swearing and angry smokers
Conner tapped out the last cig in his pack, eying the empty carton mournfully. Somehow his stash had disappeared, even though he was sure no one had been in his apartment for a while. Had he been that stressed lately? Chain smoking like a maniac probably tended to deplete your 15 carton stash to one cigarette fairly quickly within a week. Probably from the full house on Memorial Day too. Fuck that’d been hectic.
Sighing, he lit up and grabbed his keys and wallet. Maybe he’d stop by Beth’s on the not so much way and feed the guy’s fish. It wasn’t like he could leave it thereto fend for itself. He was just thankful it wasn’t a dog or something. Then he’d have to actually take care of the thing. All you needed to do with fish was feed then… right?
Down the fire escape (be sure to lock the window), out the alley and down the street (since he didn’t have the best depth perception and couldn’t drive or ride a bike). A few turns down various streets, a familiar path as any for this smoker.
The Irish-man took a last drag of his cigarette and snubbed it out on an ashtray conveniently placed by the liquor store doors and pushed inside, wincing at the annoying bell. “Hey…” he approached the counter, glad no one else was inside yet and leaned one elbow on the paned glass above the Scratchers. “Gimme tae boxes o’ the usual, Dennis.” Conner went to pull out his wallet when he was stopped by words no chain smoker out of his brand wants to hear.
“Sorry Conner. Fresh out.”