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Excerpt from

Sammy's Night Out
By
Ross Cavins

All Sammy needed when he went into the Scotsman was a pack of condoms. The ribbed kind cause Joleen said they really did feel better than the regular kind. And don't get the ones that's lubricated, that stuff messed with her system. Did the opposite of what it was supposed to do, dried her out.

And while Sammy was at it, he was gonna get a can of that Red Bull, see if it really gave him wings, let him and Joleen go all night long. Maybe get her one too. And a Snickers for later, cause it really satisfies, like the ads said. And maybe one of them pink carnations they sold in the little jar by the register, for Joleen, show her he cared and shit like that.

He went in to get a three dollar pack of condoms, and ended up with almost ten bucks worth of stuff. Damn place was worse than Walmarts.

A fat lady was wearing short shorts and sandals in front of him, putting all her cottage cheese out there for everybody to see like she was showing off or something, a bunch of crap in her big flabby arms. Twice as much as he had, hell, more'n that. Potato chips and milk and orange juice and deodorant and toothpaste and a box of Strawberry Pop Tarts. Damn. Where she think this is, Walmarts? All she needed was a screaming two year old that wanted a stupid plastic toy she wouldn't let him have, slap him around and tell him to shut up or she gonna knock him into next Wednesday. Then it'd be just like the Walmarts.

The lady turned around like she forgot something, maybe garbage bags or tampons or batteries, and Sammy saw her nipples poking out her thin shirt. Jesus Christ! Them things were the size of the hubcaps on his 280z. She weren't wearing no bra and she should've been, trip over 'em if she weren't careful.

It got to be her turn and she waddled up to the counter, dropped all her crap onto it. A Snickers fell to the floor and Sammy knelt to get it, the last thing he wanted to see was her bent over showing him things that'd stunt his growth.

He held the candy bar out to her fat stubby fingers and she told him thanks, smelling like Doritos. She had a voice he'd swear he'd heard on one of them late night ads for a 900 number. Singles in your area just waiting to get to know you. Ninety-nine cents a minute gave you a chance to get laid. Yeah, with a fatty.

Her having a Snickers and him having a Snickers didn't feel right, gave him a creepy feeling, like when you show up at work one day with your mullet in a ponytail sporting a Fu-Manchu mustache and the guy you hate most, the one's always got oil on his face like he done rebuilt an entire engine when all he's done is change the stupid timing belt, has come in with the same look. Makes you wanna shave and cut your hair you spent two years growing out, just cause somebody'll say you look like brothers.

Maybe he should get a Zero bar, with that white chocolate, something a little different. But he had his mind set on a Snickers. Fifth Avenue's got that peanut butter in it. Same with Butterfinger. Three Musketeers are good but too fluffy, not filling enough. Maybe they got some of them Whatchamacallits, he ain't seen them in a long time. Wonder if they still made 'em? Nah, stick with the Snickers, keep it simple. He was next in line, practically there, once the fat lady finished with her monthly grocery shopping.

At a convenience store. Place is for convenience, not buying everything you needed for your damn house. You get the same shit half that price at the Walmarts, if you just got off your lazy ass to drive there.

Parking lot was too big was probably why she didn't do that, too far for her fat ass to walk. Chafe those humongous thunder thighs of hers. Joleen better not ever get that fucking big or she'd be out on her damn ass. All two hundred pounds of it.

The fat lady finally paid for her shit and was waddling out of the store the same time a dude came in waving around a gun like he hadn't had his meds yet that day. "Alright everybody, this a fuckin' hold-up!" Yelling like nobody with a third grade education couldn't figure it out by themselves.

The guy with the gun didn't look too old, white guy maybe in his early twenties. Hard to tell cause he hadn't shaved in a few days and his eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles. Strung out was the first thing Sammy thought. Crack, maybe, the way he was darting his eyes all around, then looking out the door, then back again. It was crack. Sammy'd had some of that shit before, never again. Made you paranoid as fuck and didn't last long enough. Ten minutes after a hit and you wanted more, needed more. Sammy weren't made of no money like that.

The dude was yelling at everybody to shut the fuck up which Sammy thought was pretty funny cause the dude was the only one talking. Pointing his gun now at the fat lady and telling her to back the fuck up real nice and slow. Sammy didn't think she had any speed but slow. Yeah, he thought that was pretty funny and wanted real bad to say it out loud but he didn't think anybody'd get it. Or at least they wouldn't laugh.


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