Leaning over the counter, looking down at linoleum with a fluorescent glare that makes her stomach turn and her eyes burn, she talks to another customer. Swinging keys from her finger, not listening to the woman talking about her kids "Does she think I give a damn"- she's bored with everything these days. She looks the woman over, reading her - it passes the time. This one's like all the rest: upper middle class, member of the PTA, stringy blonde hair that really went gray five years ago, and a Martha Stewart complex; but she knows better. Looking at this woman she knows all her dirty secrets, "This one likes it up the her and her husband both have a man on the just haven't realized it's the same one yet." She holds in a laugh as she counts out the cash, and hands the nice lady her condoms and lube with a smile that says, "fuck you".

The air-conditioner is broken again, the fan on the counter blows a steady stream of hot air in her face - choking and suffocating, like this place - the phone rings. One ring closer to the day she breaks. Two rings. Three rings. Damnit, they're not giving up. "Electronics, how may I help you?" "Do y'all sell VCRs?" Fuck this, I quit. Hanging up the phone, she rips off her nametag and gets back to her life.