The Purchase
CW: language, alcoholism
Less and less cars zipped past him as Hank approached the edge of campus and made his way down the hill to his favorite liquor shop. He liked this one best, because he never ran into anyone he knew. That and it opened at 10am. He had $32.41 in his bank account – enough for a handle of Seagram’s gin. He brought an empty backpack to carry it back, or whatever was left of it. Today, he wasn’t going to do anything productive.
Hank’s Senior year of college felt somewhat miraculous to him. After changing his major three times already and skipping many classes due to hangovers that he renamed as sickness, he was somehow on track to graduate in the spring. Terrifying.
The wind blew a little harder on his cheeks, so hard that what was once numbness turned to pain. He was relieved to feel something. He wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and stepped onto the crosswalk, his last major landmark before arrival.
“Fuck. How is it only 9:41?”
He paused at the corner and looked up for the first time that morning, noticing the grey winter skies and the chill of stillness that both matched and contrasted his inner world.
“I should probably eat something,” he thought to himself and turned his gaze to the grocery store across the street. He did quick math in his head and decided he could afford a donut and a lemonade. He didn’t really like lemonade, but it was definitely the most cost efficient chaser.
This grocery store always made him reflective. If he were still writing poetry, he would write about Edgar’s Foods. Everything was beige. And it never seemed busy enough to stay in business, unless it was a game day weekend. He usually didn’t make it out of his room on those days. He preferred to hide. He was probably the only boy in Kappa Beta who didn’t like football. He was probably the only boy who liked boys, too. Or so he thought.
With a somewhat surprising pep in his step, Hank smiled and approached register 1 (the only register seemingly open), after wandering aimlessly around the store for approximately 12 minutes. This unexpected boost of energy made him raise his eyebrows at himself, which didn’t seem to translate well to the cashier.
“Is that all?” she rolled her eyes towards the empty donut bag.
“Oh, I have a lemonade, too!” Hank added, as he reached into his left coat pocket to present it for scanning. The donut must have put him in a good mood. That and it was almost time to disappear again. 9:58.
“Please use a basket or a cart next time. My manager doesn’t like when people use their pockets to shop.”
“Ok, heard. Thanks…”
As the automatic doors separated for his exit, Hank returned to the blistery outside world. Some part of him was hoping that buying something besides alcohol might lead to a more enjoyable human interaction at the register. Less judgment maybe. Less explaining.
“At least I didn’t steal,” he said aloud to himself as he stuffed his hands back into his pockets to join with his lemonade and a crumpled up receipt.
His eyebrows sank back down to his lashes as he crossed the parking lot. He decided beige and grey were the same.
Less and less cars zipped past him as Hank approached the edge of campus and made his way down the hill to his favorite liquor shop. He liked this one best, because he never ran into anyone he knew. That and it opened at 10am. He had $32.41 in his bank account – enough for a handle of Seagram’s gin. He brought an empty backpack to carry it back, or whatever was left of it. Today, he wasn’t going to do anything productive.
Hank’s Senior year of college felt somewhat miraculous to him. After changing his major three times already and skipping many classes due to hangovers that he renamed as sickness, he was somehow on track to graduate in the spring. Terrifying.
The wind blew a little harder on his cheeks, so hard that what was once numbness turned to pain. He was relieved to feel something. He wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and stepped onto the crosswalk, his last major landmark before arrival.
“Fuck. How is it only 9:41?”
He paused at the corner and looked up for the first time that morning, noticing the grey winter skies and the chill of stillness that both matched and contrasted his inner world.
“I should probably eat something,” he thought to himself and turned his gaze to the grocery store across the street. He did quick math in his head and decided he could afford a donut and a lemonade. He didn’t really like lemonade, but it was definitely the most cost efficient chaser.
This grocery store always made him reflective. If he were still writing poetry, he would write about Edgar’s Foods. Everything was beige. And it never seemed busy enough to stay in business, unless it was a game day weekend. He usually didn’t make it out of his room on those days. He preferred to hide. He was probably the only boy in Kappa Beta who didn’t like football. He was probably the only boy who liked boys, too. Or so he thought.
With a somewhat surprising pep in his step, Hank smiled and approached register 1 (the only register seemingly open), after wandering aimlessly around the store for approximately 12 minutes. This unexpected boost of energy made him raise his eyebrows at himself, which didn’t seem to translate well to the cashier.
“Is that all?” she rolled her eyes towards the empty donut bag.
“Oh, I have a lemonade, too!” Hank added, as he reached into his left coat pocket to present it for scanning. The donut must have put him in a good mood. That and it was almost time to disappear again. 9:58.
“Please use a basket or a cart next time. My manager doesn’t like when people use their pockets to shop.”
“Ok, heard. Thanks…”
As the automatic doors separated for his exit, Hank returned to the blistery outside world. Some part of him was hoping that buying something besides alcohol might lead to a more enjoyable human interaction at the register. Less judgment maybe. Less explaining.
“At least I didn’t steal,” he said aloud to himself as he stuffed his hands back into his pockets to join with his lemonade and a crumpled up receipt.
His eyebrows sank back down to his lashes as he crossed the parking lot. He decided beige and grey were the same.
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