The stray observations of a girl working the night shift, featuring Jay.
In England, you can buy medication like paracetamol/ibuprofen as you would with normal shopping (there are limits to how much you can, but still) - so that's just by way of explanation, if that doesn't actually happen anywhere else.
"Just these, please."
It was about 2AM. The man in front of her had just flung down a few boxes; mostly painkillers. He probably got a lot of headaches. Or was addicted. He didn't look like he would be the type, but then again, none of them ever looked the type.
"Okie dokie then, darlin'. Anything else I can help you with?"
She was trying to put on a smile, but yeah… It was 2AM. She hated that hour the most. It was slow, even this deep into the city, it was the last hour on her shift, and who even thought up 24 hour pharmacies anyway.
"No, nothing else. Thank you."
She started scanning through his items. "Just travelling through, are you?" she asked, taking in his rucksack, trying to drum up some conversation. Baggy clothes were harshly creased, and looked like they didn't fit him at all. The jeans were far too short to start with, but he also had a belt on done up as tight as it could go. It was the signature look of someone who was just passing on by, wearing clothes that appeared to belong to someone entirely different.
"Um," he said. "Something like that. We've got a while to go before we get where we want to, but…"
"Ah," she nodded. "Driving?"
"Yeah."
She snuck a look whilst putting the transaction through. He was rubbing his eyes - eyes that had an age worth of lost sleep weighing them down, apparently. He looked very, very tired, and maybe he was about to cry, and maybe he was running away instead of travelling. Maybe that was why he looked so fatigued.
She realised quickly that he was counting out change, right down to the last penny, and instantly knew he wouldn't have enough. That was okay. She read his new total to him with a bright smile.
"Wait, really?" he said, surprised.
"Yup," she beamed, hoping to high heaven he wouldn't want a receipt, because it was definitely a box down out of the four he wanted to purchase and that could get her in trouble.
"Thank you," he said, sliding her a handful of silver and copper. She counted it deftly. An exact amount.
"What's with the camera?"
"Uh. Travel diary."
It was an obvious lie. But he was quiet, and seemed shy, and the poor man looked like he'd been to hell and back somehow. "Have a great trip," she said as way of goodbye, watching as he grabbed the carrier bag she offered with shaking fingers, and nearly sprinting to the car waiting outside.
Good luck, she didn't say.