Circle K II

After a few drinks with friends, I was headed home. The daily struggles of life were pulling me down like a freight train headed straight to hell. I needed a 40, so I stopped at the Circle K.

I was in a mood to kick some serious ass. Not in a violent way, but more like, “Hey world, this is who I am, and if you don’t like it, fuck you.” All with a smile on my face of course.

There was a huge line at the cash register. What a bunch of drunks. I grabbed my 40 of Bush, because they were out of the “High Life”. What a bunch of cheap drunks. I joined them at the end of the line.

I plopped my 40 on a shelf too lazy to hold it while I waited. The woman in front looked at it, then looked at me, “That looks like a fun evening.”
I shrugged my shoulders, lifted my palms up to the skies, “we’ll see.”
“I can never get to the bottom of one of them.”
“Oh, I can. Then I come back and get another. You gotta watch the next day though. It’ll kill ya.”
“I’m all about the micros.”
“Yeah, they taste good but they’re so filling I can’t drink too many of them.”
“Well that’s a good gauge don’t you think? I drink those,” she said pointing to my suspicious looking 40, “and I get all twisted.”
“Maybe, but gauges and me don’t get along too well.”
She moved back slightly from the hips up and had this look on her face. I know the look. I have it anytime a girl says something that really impresses me. She held out her hand, “I’m Jennifer.”
“I’m John,” I said and I shook it.
She was in her 30s. Dark hair and eyes. Kind of short and stout - not bad looking, but not really good either. I knew I could ask her home if I wanted to, and I seriously considered it. It sure would be fun to get drunk, get wild and get screwed. But she just wasn’t my type.

Damn standards.