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Excerpt from the Book
Chapter One: On the Road
I parked my ‘67 Riviera at the pump. Didn’t need no gas, but that’s the best parkin’ spot at a fuckin’ mini-mart, so I parked it there – like I said.
I walked in the so-called “mart” and called out “Viceroy 100s,” as I strolled back to the fountain drinks where I planned to get my Coc’ Cola – wasn’t quite time for my Black Velvet, although it was gettin’ close. The dude at the register glanced at the side of my head as I walked past, and then he reached up high for the cigarette rack to grab my smokes. With my drink now in hand, I walked to the candy aisle where I grabbed a handful of green apple and cherry Ranchers (Jolly), which were in an open box just next to the gum-balls. I set my brefkist on the counter and the checker-dork set the class As on top of my Rancher pile.
“Those are shorts, bro,” I said with heinous undertones.
“That’s all we’ve got – we don’t carry the longs,” he said with stupid-ass overtones.
“Well, then I reckon I’ll take these for free and come back when you get a new order in. That gonna be a problem for ya?” I asked him with menacing sincerity.
“Nn-nn-no,” he stammered with nervous pissingliness.
“Good. When do you think you’ll have those in – week or less?” I proffered with dark cheerfulness.
“Well, we don’t get deliveries all that often. We usually don’t” –
I cut him off. “Bup, bup, bup… I saaaid, do you think you’ll be gettin’ those 100s in the next few days?”
“Umm, yeah…yeah, I think we will,” he said with an obvious change of heart. “I’ll make a call to the vendor today.” He was catchin’ on quick.
“Good, ‘cause I’ll be back sooner than you think. Now, what-say you go back in the back, grab me a carton of those shorts, and charge me for this one lonely pack here since you screwed me over on the longs,” I said with severe diplomacy.
In approximately 11 seconds exactly, he was back from the storeroom with a carton of the Viceroy shorts. He rang up one pack, my Coke, and the rest of my hard candy brefkist.
“$6.66, sir.”
“Hmmp,” I throated with a smirk. “That sounds about right. Sack that shit – leave the smokes. I might wanna have me one or two once I get down the road a piece,” I said with debonair sarcasm.
I had a fresh smoke lit afore I hit the door. I smoked it slow and hard (that’s what she said) at the pumps while a nice lady customer filled her tank hurriedly.
“You might wanna shut your side flap there,” I told the brunette as she walked away from her pretty white luxury SUV, “unless, of course, you’re offering me an ashtray, pretty momma,” I posed in the form of a question-statement.
She walked back to the car, her eyes on the ground, replaced the cap, and closed the flap. I saw her swallow hard as she rushed into the store, probably to buy some fuckin’ gum, like pretty rich ladies like to do.
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