The bell chimes.
The tv screen is glitchy, fading in and out of news and daytime soaps.
The sun shines through the window, through the faded posters about carpet businesses and free consultations for lawyers
The smell of coffee permeates throughout
The dripping into the pot fills the room; absent of the usual scratchy radio mix over the speaker.
A man, dressed in a red adidas tracksuit stands behind the counter.
Flipping through a scribbled newspaper,
The scribbles as if someone made the appropriate notes.
Customers come in and out,
Dropping crumbled bills, loose change, and swiping fancy Apple Cards at the counter
The old clock above the register ticking the hours by
It reaches one in the afternoon and a crowd of people bustle in
A man rushes to the cooler to grab a Gatorade after a long run,
A woman shuffling through her jacket for a list she cannot find, urgently rushes to the back.
An older gentleman stepping to the counter to drop the latest scratched off lottery ticket.
The man, at the counter, moves at a swift and a calculated speed.
The store quiet again, in seconds.
“What should I start first?”
A woman, in her thirties, has appeared from the back door.
The man nods.
“Probably the stuff in the back.”
“The stuff in the back?”
The man, in the red jumpsuit, looks up from his paper.
“The dish soap. The paper towels. The toilet paper.”
The woman nods.
“Toilet paper is ten at the market.”
The man looks out the window.
People passing by. Cars zooming down the street.
“Paper towel is at least nine.”
The woman was at the counter, holding a cardboard box.
The man nodded, once again.
“We are in the middle of the neighborhood. We work for the betterment of the neighborhood.”
The bell chimed.
A younger man with a child by his side.
“The juice is restocked, Chad.”
“Appreciate that.”
The man, at the counter went back to his newspaper.
The woman took the box to the end of the aisle.
The bell chimed.
Life continues.
