Walter Stanwick grabbed his usual newspaper and cup of coffee from the P&D Market on the corner of 53rd and Industrial. It was his routine. In Walter's world, consistency was the secret to a long life.
Walter looked up from the stand of creamers and additives to see the red-haired kid behind the counter having a difficult conversation with a haggard looking man with graying hair and a shabby coat.
"No! That can't be, I need it! Today!" replied the man, already slurring his speech at eight-forty-five in the morning. On the counter, Walter noticed a clear glass bottle of equally clear liquid. The label on the front verified what he had already concluded. Liquor.
"I don't have a choice, sir. You know what'll happen if you overdraw. That's serious business."
The man ran an unsteady hand through his hair and groaned desperately. He then gripped the lip of the counter top like he wanted to rip it up from its supports.
Walter stopped stirring his coffee to watch. That's when the man grabbed the bottle around the neck and dashed for the door.
Walter hastily set his cup down, spilling some of the contents on the plastic surface of the creamer stand. He darted around a display of packaged cakes and took three gaping strides toward the assailant.
The shabby man had barely put his hand on the glass door before Walter had him by the collar of his coat. A small puff of dust rose up from the garment as Walter pulled the fellow back toward the counter.
"I don't believe that's yours, friend," Walter said as he relieved the man of the bottle.
"Hey, give it back!" the man complained as he lost his balance and fell to the floor.
Walter bent down to look the grizzly face right in the eyes. The man couldn't have been much more than thirty-five years old, maybe forty.
"The boy says you don't have enough for it. That means you don't have enough."
"It's my choice!" the man slurred and stuck his tongue out at Walter, like a child.
Walter stood up and handed the bottle to the youthful clerk.
"Thanks, Mister," the kid said, adjusting his white, paper hat.
Walter looked down at the man on the floor who had suddenly fallen unconscious.
"Well, it was no use, anyway," Walter said. "If he didn't have enough for that bottle of rot-gut, he wasn't going to last very long. You'll need to call the authorities. His account seems to have expired."
The boy looked grimly over the counter at the expired man on his floor. "Oh, yes, sir. I think you're right."
Walter walked back to his coffee and paper, adjusted the fedora on his head, and tied the belt of his trench coat.
"How much for the coffee and paper?" Walter asked.
The boy totaled up the two items on the register. "That'll be five minutes and forty-nine seconds, sir," he said with a commercial smile.
Walter placed a hand over the small chrome scanner next to the register "Thanks, kid," he said, then walked out of the market, reading the morning's headlines.
The End
This story was first published on Wednesday, August 20th, 2014
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