Battle Scars
"That'll be eighty dollars, sir," Joey stated after a moment, placing the board games into a bag for the elderly man.
"Do you have military discounts?" the man asked, digging around his wallet for his debit card.
"Um… I think we do. Hold on, I'll check." Walking over to the stock room, the blond poked his head in. "Hey, Gramps, do we do military discounts?"
"Of course, as long as they have their military ID!" Solomon replied. "I'll be out to show you how to do it in a minute."
The teen smiled and turned back to the man waiting with his card extended. "You're in luck! We do! I just need to see your military ID!"
"Ah, I'm sure I have it in here somewhere," the elderly man muttered, digging back into his wallet.
"We'll hafta wait for my boss, so take as much time as ya need!" Joey replied, walking back over to the register.
"I can also show you my scars!" he added, then lifted his shirt.
Joey gasped in horror, sputtered, gagged, and tripped over his own feet, crashing to the floor in a painful manner that nonetheless relieved him of the grotesque sight of scars all across the old man's wrinkly chest. "Oh God!"
As he lay twitching on the ground, Solomon stepped out of the stockroom. "Oh, that's a great scar! You know, I've got a few myself from my archaeology expeditions—"
"Yugi!" Joey wailed, scrambling out from behind the counter and running back to the kitchen.
"…Now what's his problem?" the patron mumbled, frowning.
Solomon scoffed. "Obviously a weak stomach."
"Mm, that's probably it. Children these days…"