Farley juggled a bag of sourcream and onion potato chips, mixed nuts, and a four-pack of energy drinks in one hand as he fished out his wallet with his other hand. Using the edge of the counter, his hip, and ingenuity he maneuvered inside the wallet, slamming some crumpled bills on the countertop.
The convenience store clerk eyed the crumpled balls of money as they slowly expanded, having been freed from their cramped prison. "It's three fifty more, buddy," the convenience store clerk informed him, rolling his eyes as he did.
Farley sighed and dug back inside his wallet in search of a few more dollars. He fished out three dollar bills, which he placed on the counter. Those he had found folded into tiny squares in the very bottom edge and were the last of his cash. He thought about continuing to look to save face but there wasn't any more money in there. The store clerk folded his arms high up on his chest and leaned back against the wall behind him. Farley began to sweat, a response to the nerves building inside of him. Normal social situations were easy for him to navigate, but this was starting to get a little uncomfortable.
He started to search his pockets, beginning with the easiest pocket to reach he worked around. Front right, back right, easy to search, but also empty. Front left was a little harder to get into but when he tried to channel his inner pretzel and reach for the back left the chips, nuts, and energy drinks in his other hand exploded out of his grip. The four-pack landed half on the counter, half off, resulting in an amazing noise when the half that did not land on the counter succumbed to gravity, pulling all four cans to the floor where one immediately burst open, spraying bright orange energy drink across Farley's sweats, shoes, and the floor. His chips landed with a much less dramatic plop and he wasn't sure where the mixed nuts went.
"Shit, man, I'm sorry," Farley mumbled. Despite the mess growing around him, he reached into that pocket, easier now that his hands weren't full.
It was empty.
"I, uh, maybe fifty cents off for the one that broke?" he said, gesturing to the can that was still spraying its innards over everything around it.
The clerk, who had stayed mostly disinterested and calm up until this point, started turning red. A vein began to bulge out from his forehead and while Farley thought this was an overreaction, he also assumed the guy was generally unhappy with his job in the first place and that this was more of a back-breaking-straw moment for him. He could commiserate.
"Do you have a mop?" Farley asked. "I can clean it up."
The clerk's mouth barely moved when he spoke. "Either give me the fifty cents or get the hell out here."
"Ok, well, you see I don't have any more change so…"
"Do you have a card?"
He did, of course, have a debit card but it wasn't technically his and was meant to be used only in emergency situations. He looked at the chips and remaining three energy drinks longingly. "Yeah, I do," he admitted, slipping it out of its sleeve in his wallet and slapping it on the counter.
Farley noticed the glass countertop was shaking weirdly and when he looked up he saw that the clerk was now vibrating. Dude needed a yoga class or something.
"You know, I play this game online whenever I am feeling a little tense and it calms me right down. The Final Legend, you could come over, play a bit…"
"Swipe your card and get out," the clerk said.
There was a scoffing noise behind Farley and he looked back to see a tall guy had gotten in line behind him. He smiled at Farley and Farley smiled awkwardly back. The other guy had longish black hair and a beard that made it impossible to accurately guess his age. He wore a black stocking cap that pushed the hair in front nearly into his eyes. Farley wondered if the other man could see. He also wondered why he was still smiling at him. Guys didn't smile at him, not sober guys anyway. And Farley wasn't in a place where he was ready to tell anyone in his life he wanted guys to smile at him. No, that was a secret he would take to his grave, which, if he didn't get out of the store and away from the convenience store clerk, may be a place he was going to visit soon.
Farley followed the instructions on the keypad, grabbed his stuff–he had assumed the clerk wasn't going to give him a bag at this point–and walked out of the store. It was dusk on a Sunday and not many people were out. The first day of spring had just passed and most people had either school or work to prepare for. Farley worked. At being awesome. He technically also had a part-time job but his pay at the town's last video rental store was almost as bad as his job security.
He'd reached the passenger-side door of his mom's Oldsmobile and unlocked it, depositing his loot. He shut the door and turned around, running straight into the smiling guy from the store.
"Oh, oops, sorry," Farley said, though by now his spidey senses were tingling. If hot guys didn't smile at him, they definitely didn't follow him to his car.
"No, I'm sorry," the other guy said in a friendly tone. "I'm probably freaking you out, following you across a parking lot."
Farley took a deep breath and nodded as he exhaled. "Ha, yeah, that is pretty crazy." He tried to step past the other guy to get into the driver's seat but the other man didn't move out of his way. "I've actually got somewhere—"
"This is a cool car, a classic," the guy said as if oblivious to Farley's attempt to get away from him.
There wasn't a sane person in the world whom would have called his mom's clunky old car with peeling wood paneling, cool. That could only mean this guy was crazy. "I'll tell my mom you said so," he said, trying to get by again.
The other guy found this very funny. "Your mom? You live with your mom? How old are you? Forty?"
I'm in my thirties, thank you very much, you asshole, Farley thought but was not brave enough to say out loud. "Yeah, well, it's a hoot. If you don't mind, I need to get this cool car back to my mom," he said being as obvious as possible that he wanted pass.
The other man searched the parking lot. When he looked back to Farley his smile had turned into a sneer. "Sorry, I was just waiting for that guy to drive out and the clerk to leave from behind the counter and go into the back. Give me all your money and the keys to this piece-of-shit car."
Farley would have died laughing it wasn't for the mean look in the other man's eyes.
"All my money? All of it? I don't have any money." He went the extra mile, shoving his hands in his pockets and pulling them inside out. Bits of garbage, receipts, tissues and lint fell to the parking lot. The man made no reaction. "Look, this isn't funny," he said pushing against the other man. When he wouldn't budge, Farley shoved harder, with no success. "Get out of the way," he said, trying to sound menacing. He wasn't a small guy, definitely not thin.
Farley had always imagined that in a moment where he needed to defend himself or his property, his weight would be an asset. But right now, he was already starting to breathe hard from just trying to shove someone out of his way. Someone who was apparently made out of adamantium.
With one decisive move, the man shoved Farley off and back against the car. "I'm not even really enjoying this one. You should stop embarrassing yourself though, fatty."
Fatty? Real original. Besides, Farley wasn't that fat. He was chubby. He was…relaxed. You are getting mugged!
"I'm not giving you shit, dickbag—" Farley nearly swallowed his tongue when he spotted the glint of the mugger's knife. "Hey now, you don't have to—"
The mugger made a disgusted noise. "Just like I thought. I spotted you in that store right away and pegged you for what you are, a pussy. And now you're a pussy who is also a shitty son," the man said before punching Farley on the side of his head.
He fell hard, his head ringing.
The man kicked him when he was down. "Did you even feel that?" the guy asked, disgusted. "You're like the marshmallow man," he said, delivering a series of kicks to Farley's chest and middle that Farley could absolutely feel.
Blow after blow slammed against his body and all he could do was lay there and try not to throw up. Maybe if he did throw up, the other guy would stop hitting him. The last thing Farley saw before everything went black was the man's boot, hurtling toward his face.