It was 10 a.m, opening time. The store was bright and nearly empty. No greeter at the door. A few people waited at the cellphone kiosk. Two salesmen stood around talking, and the cashier was fiddling with her drawer.
I went straight to the scooters. Grabbed a box I knew I could carry. Not the best one, not the worst. Just manageable.
The cardboard dug into my arm as I turned. A salesman jogged over, asked if I needed help. I didn’t say anything. Another one stepped in front of me like he was going to block me. I walked around him. He called me a piece of shit.
That made me laugh. Not even a big laugh. More like a puff of air. Outside, the sun was too bright. My feet itched to run, but I knew better. No one was coming after me. Policy. I crossed the street, found a quiet spot, and put it together with the little Allen key in the box. Then I just rode off.
I didn’t have a phone, but I knew who to call. A guy who lived in a tent by the freeway. He was usually around, and he usually had dope.
I rode to the hospital. Same routine as always. There was a phone behind the help desk. He picked up. That was good. I told him what I had. He said he’d be right there.
We made the deal. Three hundred bucks, give or take. The scooter was gone. I was back on foot. That part stung a little. It would've been nice to keep riding.
It was 10 a.m, opening time. The store was bright and nearly empty. No greeter at the door. A few people waited at the cellphone kiosk. Two salesmen stood around talking, and the cashier was fiddling with her drawer.
I went straight to the scooters. Grabbed a box I knew I could carry. Not the best one, not the worst. Just manageable.
The cardboard dug into my arm as I turned. A salesman jogged over, asked if I needed help. I didn’t say anything. Another one stepped in front of me like he was going to block me. I walked around him. He called me a piece of shit.
That made me laugh. Not even a big laugh. More like a puff of air. Outside, the sun was too bright. My feet itched to run, but I knew better. No one was coming after me. Policy. I crossed the street, found a quiet spot, and put it together with the little Allen key in the box. Then I just rode off.
I didn’t have a phone, but I knew who to call. A guy who lived in a tent by the freeway. He was usually around, and he usually had dope.
I rode to the hospital. Same routine as always. There was a phone behind the help desk. He picked up. That was good. I told him what I had. He said he’d be right there.
We made the deal. Three hundred bucks, give or take. The scooter was gone. I was back on foot. That part stung a little. It would've been nice to keep riding.
![[image: profileimages.torn.com]](https://profileimages.torn.com/740b04ea-6842-45b6-bd3b-3f640a6c8fa9-3917104.png?v=1940629196397){kind=link}