[this story was inspired by Edward Hopper's "Drug Store"]
Despite my mothers countless lectures on the dangers of doing drugs, I smoked pot on my twentieth birthday. You kill off brain cells and lose your memory, she would tell me. You lose all rational judgment and end up doing things youll regret, she would say, remembering her own experiences. I just couldnt miss out any longer. Was it worth it? Of course. It might make me a little slower upstairs, but it sure does make me feel good.
But, I do find that this hobby of mine has got me strapped for cash. Weed doesnt come cheap these days and an apartment doesnt pay for itself. A crappy job at McDonalds can only pay for so much. No worries though you see that drug store over there? Yeah, Silbers. Its open 24 Hours and Ive been studying the shift changes for the past few days and tonights the night I walk in there a poor slob and come out a rich bastard.
I know what Im gonna say and how Im gonna say it and now I just gotta sit here and wait for the last shift change of the night. Wont be long now. Wow, I feel kinda high just thinking about doing this! I dont think Ive ever been this excited except maybe for my first trip, of course.
Hey buddy, will you shut up? a bum lounging in the alley across from Silbers requested. Joe turned and shot a menacing glance at the dirty man. He looked away and lay back down on his bag of cans, using it as a makeshift pillow. Joe was annoyed with the man who had interrupted his not-so-internal monologue, but quickly forgot when he returned his gaze to the glowing display case of the pharmacy.
He leaned against the brick wall that served as his base of operations and watched as a teenage boy in black pants and a white button up shirt entered the store. A few minutes later, another boy who couldve been the others clone left the store; the small bell perched above the doorframe jingling on his way out.
Ok, now I just need to give him about five minutes to get somewhat settled, Joe thought to himself. Then Ill come in and ask for some medicine thats only kept in the back, and while hes getting it Ill sneak behind the counter, grab the shotgun and demand all of the money. Itll be cake! He grinned to himself and then slowly crossed the deserted street.
When the bell rang above the door again, the boys first assumption was that his coworker had forgotten something, but when he glanced up from his magazine and saw the unkempt stranger he realized he had a customer. He quickly set his magazine on the counter and stood.
Anything I can help you with, sir? he asked politely.
Well, yeah, maybe, he said. I havent been feeling too well lately. I was wondering, do you carry any extra-strength cold medicine? He tried to make his voice as nasal, and believable, as possible. The boy gave him a curious look and Joes hand moved to his throat and began massaging just below his chin. He then snuffled, feebly attempting to sound sick. If it helps a sore throat, too, that would be great. Joe shot a wary smile at the boy, who had apparently been convinced Joe was sick.
Sure, I think we have something in back. The boy turned and disappeared between the myriad of shelved drugs. I guess he looks like he needs it, the boy reassured himself. As he began searching for the small purple boxes of Extra-Strength Anacin, Joe slipped behind the counter and started to reach for the gun. He stared at the empty space where the gun shouldve been, confused and angry at the unexpected absence. He quickly changed his plans; bypassing the actual hold-up, he went straight for the register and unloaded its contents into his pockets. He heard the boy returning and rushed out of the store.
He sprinted to his mustard-colored Datsun, jumped into the drivers seat, and sped off down the street neglecting his seatbelt. His heart raced as he clumsily removed the wadded bills from his pockets as he drove down the nearly deserted street. Time seemed to slow as headed back to his apartment. Twenty-two and already stealing, whats happened to me? He thought of his own philosophy in life, and how he had figured it pertained to everyone but him. He recited it aloud: "The basic definition of karma is: what goes around, comes arou--" his sentence was cut short when he saw the headlights aimed at him.
He had no time to swerve, and when the decrepit Datsun hit the Buick the truck nearly disintegrated. Oh, dear God! My seatbelt! Joe thought as the grills connected and meshed into one piece of twisted metal. The truck groaned under the stress as the windshield was blown in. Shards of glass sliced the tops of his hands and his cheeks. The truck hit the curb and rolled, crushing the top with each spin. Joe ricocheted like a pinball within the cab, hitting his skull several times before the truck stopped. He lay in the upside down truck cab, barely conscious. As he lay there, he thought about karma and how much he had done wrong. He realized he hadnt been living his own philosophy and it had come back to get him.
But, I do find that this hobby of mine has got me strapped for cash. Weed doesnt come cheap these days and an apartment doesnt pay for itself. A crappy job at McDonalds can only pay for so much. No worries though you see that drug store over there? Yeah, Silbers. Its open 24 Hours and Ive been studying the shift changes for the past few days and tonights the night I walk in there a poor slob and come out a rich bastard.
I know what Im gonna say and how Im gonna say it and now I just gotta sit here and wait for the last shift change of the night. Wont be long now. Wow, I feel kinda high just thinking about doing this! I dont think Ive ever been this excited except maybe for my first trip, of course.
Hey buddy, will you shut up? a bum lounging in the alley across from Silbers requested. Joe turned and shot a menacing glance at the dirty man. He looked away and lay back down on his bag of cans, using it as a makeshift pillow. Joe was annoyed with the man who had interrupted his not-so-internal monologue, but quickly forgot when he returned his gaze to the glowing display case of the pharmacy.
He leaned against the brick wall that served as his base of operations and watched as a teenage boy in black pants and a white button up shirt entered the store. A few minutes later, another boy who couldve been the others clone left the store; the small bell perched above the doorframe jingling on his way out.
Ok, now I just need to give him about five minutes to get somewhat settled, Joe thought to himself. Then Ill come in and ask for some medicine thats only kept in the back, and while hes getting it Ill sneak behind the counter, grab the shotgun and demand all of the money. Itll be cake! He grinned to himself and then slowly crossed the deserted street.
When the bell rang above the door again, the boys first assumption was that his coworker had forgotten something, but when he glanced up from his magazine and saw the unkempt stranger he realized he had a customer. He quickly set his magazine on the counter and stood.
Anything I can help you with, sir? he asked politely.
Well, yeah, maybe, he said. I havent been feeling too well lately. I was wondering, do you carry any extra-strength cold medicine? He tried to make his voice as nasal, and believable, as possible. The boy gave him a curious look and Joes hand moved to his throat and began massaging just below his chin. He then snuffled, feebly attempting to sound sick. If it helps a sore throat, too, that would be great. Joe shot a wary smile at the boy, who had apparently been convinced Joe was sick.
Sure, I think we have something in back. The boy turned and disappeared between the myriad of shelved drugs. I guess he looks like he needs it, the boy reassured himself. As he began searching for the small purple boxes of Extra-Strength Anacin, Joe slipped behind the counter and started to reach for the gun. He stared at the empty space where the gun shouldve been, confused and angry at the unexpected absence. He quickly changed his plans; bypassing the actual hold-up, he went straight for the register and unloaded its contents into his pockets. He heard the boy returning and rushed out of the store.
He sprinted to his mustard-colored Datsun, jumped into the drivers seat, and sped off down the street neglecting his seatbelt. His heart raced as he clumsily removed the wadded bills from his pockets as he drove down the nearly deserted street. Time seemed to slow as headed back to his apartment. Twenty-two and already stealing, whats happened to me? He thought of his own philosophy in life, and how he had figured it pertained to everyone but him. He recited it aloud: "The basic definition of karma is: what goes around, comes arou--" his sentence was cut short when he saw the headlights aimed at him.
He had no time to swerve, and when the decrepit Datsun hit the Buick the truck nearly disintegrated. Oh, dear God! My seatbelt! Joe thought as the grills connected and meshed into one piece of twisted metal. The truck groaned under the stress as the windshield was blown in. Shards of glass sliced the tops of his hands and his cheeks. The truck hit the curb and rolled, crushing the top with each spin. Joe ricocheted like a pinball within the cab, hitting his skull several times before the truck stopped. He lay in the upside down truck cab, barely conscious. As he lay there, he thought about karma and how much he had done wrong. He realized he hadnt been living his own philosophy and it had come back to get him.
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