"You shake that thing for money?" the shadow growled from the dark corner.
"Didn't your mother ever teach you to respect women?" I responded, clutching my tattered cloth purse.
"Aren't you a goddamn stripper? I see you coming outta there.."
I scrambled away, rolling my eyes- he was right. I wasn't always a stripper, you know. I dropped out of medical school, I couldn't live off of what I was making. I started stripping until my dad found out, he kicked me out.
I lit a cigarette but didn't inhale, I wasn't trying to take years off my life- but I needed something in my mouth or else my anxiety became overwhelming. I stomped it out and entered the pharmacy. I hadn't realized how bone biting cold it was outside until I felt the burning sensation all throughout my arms as the heat of the pharmacy hit me.
I picked up an economy sized jar of Tang (aisle 8) and a bag of Cheetos (aisle 10) and took it to the front. Behind the counter stood an old man I had never seen before, reading Maxim magazine with Angelina Jolie on the front...from October 1993. The corners were bent and coffee stains tie dyed her face.
"Excuse me...?" I realized he couldn't see me above the top of the magazine. He glanced down.
"Oh, sorry...didn't see you there." I smiled as though I didn't hear it...all the time.
I gave a smile, pushed five dollars into his hand and made my way out.
As I left I felt the man's burning yet awkward stare on my 4 foot 2 frame.
I rushed home, just wanting to go to bed. Though the days didn't get worse, they didn't seem to get better either.