This'll probably be the last update for some time, 'pologies. I broke my left hand, the reason for which I'd rather not disclose. Just fixed that...eh...minor...malfunction with Johnny's change near the end. It was pointed out to me by a friend and I smack myself for not noticing it earlier.

Berating and general nonsense for the next couple months I now direct to aerisignmail.com.

------------teh reluctantly crippled silec


There was a man at the counter. Nothing special about him. Just another sweaty, nondescript, oblivious sack of flesh. He had a task he needed to fulfill, just like the other flesh-sack standing in front of him in the middle-of-nowhere convenience store.

The man was bored out of his mind. In the same position for hours, head on a hand, constantly checking his watch. He tapped out a disarranged rhythm with the other hand. He believed that he wasn't being paid nearly enough for such a simple, monotonous chore. A fine layer of dust had settled on the undisturbed shelves of long-spoiled junk food, on the windowsill displaying the lonely highway, and on the comatose man as well. The sun was still out, so late in the day. The sky was red and ablaze with heat. The black concrete outside the solitary establishment was littered with broken glass and unidentifiable stains. Steam slowly rose from the narrow, cliff-lined lanes.

Johnny's car was still running, standing in the middle of the road. As he slammed the door and entered the building he didn't give his parking a second thought, with only the scratchiness of his throat in mind.

The glass door opened, ringing a disused bell atop it and assailing Johnny's nose with a disgusting scent of fried meat, ice cubes, and sewage. After acknowledging the man at the counter, Johnny gave a moment's consideration to the containers of ambiguous fluid within the glass freezers against the wall. He gave a polite smile and a nod to the cashier, and gestured questioningly towards the freezers. When he was given no answer from the man's drooling, half-open mouth, he shrugged and peered through the frosted glass. He walked slowly along the row of beverages, observing them each very carefully and poking into his wallet several times during.

The cashier endured a few minutes of this tedious drink inspection before awakening and becoming furiously annoyed at Johnny. "Hey, you!" he shouted, wiping the spit from his chin and breaking the silence.

Johnny looked up from a purple can and gave the man an odd, curious look. "Yeah, you!" the man continued. "Just pick something or get the hell out of my store!" He pointed angrily towards the car parked outside.

"Well? What are you waiting for?!"

"I only wanted something to do drink," Johnny said simply, sadly glancing at the can. "I didn't think it would be so much trouble..."

"Then buy something. Jesus..."

"Can I have this one?" Johnny asked, raising the same can.

The man at the counter opened up a newspaper and tiredly waved him on. "Yes, you can have that one. You can whatever you want."

Johnny brought up the item with a grin on his face and set it down on the table. Exasperated, the man rang up the total and checked his watch, again. Seven thirty. It was darker outside, now, but there remained a permeating humidity. The fluorescent lights flickered on as he pushed the hollow gray buttons on the register.

"That'll be four dollars," he said, offhandedly, and returned to his prior lethargic position. He waited as Johnny emptied the contents of his wallet, mounds of copper coins, onto the counter, and tediously counted them one by one with a single finger.

"It appears I don't have enough, sir," Johnny said after some time. "Would three thirty-eight be enough?" The cashier buried his face in his hands. "No, it would not. Just go. Please, go away."

When the young man at the counter would not leave, he looked over at him, and noticed that Johnny was gripping something sharp. It took a second for it to register in his mind; when it finally clicked he jumped backward, spilling cartons of cigarettes all over the dingy linoleum. "Shit...hey...hey, wait, it's okay, just take it, I don't mind..." He fumbled around the ledge behind him and produced a greasy paper plate which he used as an inadequate shield.

Johnny sighed, and tapped the small knife against the counter impatiently. "No, that's quite alright. It's not the soda I'm worried about anymore, anyway." Casually, he twirled the blade in front of the man's screaming face. The plate wavered for a few seconds, then fluttered to the ground in tiny shreds. Slowly, the man slid to the ground, clutching his knees to his chest and shaking slightly. "It's just that, well, I do wonder how such an unpleasant person such as yourself came to acquire the prestigious duty of convenience store clerk. Perhaps there is a way I can ameliorate this malfunction." The man begged for his life. Incessant redundancy. It was all just repetition, repetition that had long since ceased to have any effect on Johnny. Another day, another million miles of endless human emotion.

He reached out over the counter and twirled the blade again, silencing the shrill cries and helpless pleas. Wiping the blood from the cold aluminum, he carried it out to his car, leaving behind only the sharp chime of the rusting bell upon the door.