Cingulomania (Simon "Ghost" Riley)

1

"Hi, what can I do for ya?"

"A pack of Marlboro Red 100's, please.. and a lighter."

"You got it. It's coming down out there, yeah?"

The clerk turns around to grab cigarettes from the shelf behind him and sets the carton on the counter, a curt nod as I hand him cash. The cash register pings as it opens, and I hold my palm out for my change. I smile at him and thank him as I shove my change into my front pocket, and grab the cigarettes and lighter from the counter before pointing to the exit.

"Yeah, my pants are soaked... but I think I'll live,"

I feeling the heat of embarrassment roll over my shoulders as I regret opening my mouth.

That sounded so fucking dramatic, shuuuut up.

"Have a nice night, ma'am,"

"Thank you, you too!"

I call over my shoulder as I walk out, pulling my umbrella into my right hand from my wrist and popping it open.

The bell above the door rings as I pull the Velcro off my umbrella, the umbrella opens up with a pop.

I can feel the color drain from my face as I look up to a man standing in front of me. He reaches up to one of the metal prongs of the umbrella and pushes the umbrella to the side.

I press my lips together in a thin apologetic smile and begin fumbling with the slide. I step aside and look over my shoulder as I grip the bunched fabric of the umbrella. I use my left shoulder to push the door open, wrapping the strap around the umbrella and slipping my left wrist into the strap to let it hang.

I move to the side underneath the awning of the convenience store and lean against the brick wall of the building. I pull the plastic off of the cigarettes, crumpling it and shoving it into my back pocket.

I light my cigarette, closing my eyes and savoring the off-sweet taste. I blow out the smoke from the left corner of my mouth as I watch the cars pass by, a fine mist breezes over the roof of the vehicles passing by.

I lean forward slightly to glance into the store, seeing the man at the counter and pointing to the wall of cigarettes behind the clerk.

Should I apologize? No, that's weird. It was an accident.

I push off the building, shaking my head and flicking my cigarette to rid the ashes before taking another drag.

Sirens whine off in the distance, the smell of fast food restaurants hang in the air like a thick layer of smog, tires splash against the puddles forming along the roadside, and street lamps glare against the rippling surfaces of water disturbed.

I take one last drag of my cigarette before tossing it to the side and walking along the sidewalk towards the bar.

I can feel the soaked denim at my ankles, wishing I would've worn crew socks instead of ankle as it rubs against the front of my ankles. The mesh fabric at the toes are soaked, and I curl my toes against the insole in an attempt to keep my toes from slipping forward.

The bar is alive with laughter, music, and the sound of clacking billiards in the back of the bar by the entertainment area.

TVs drone on as I walk through, nodding politely as I excuse myself to get by. The noise inside drowns out the noise that racks my brain, and I heave a sigh of relief as I sit on a bar stool at the counter, leaning over to drop my umbrella by my feet.

"Third time this week, am I good to call you by your name?"

I look up from the polished wood grain on the counter with a smile as I pull out my wallet and slide my card and ID towards the bartender and shrug my shoulders as I drag my fingertips across the counter.