It’s about 2am and I am out of wine. In order for me to continue writing I will need more. The supermarkets are long closed at this hour which means a trip to the Nightshop. A good Nightshop near your place is an essential part of modern living. The people who run them are almost always hostile, the result of having to deal with drunks and creeps who wander the streets at night. People like me, basically.
The owner of this Nightshop is particularly unpleasant, but he isn’t working tonight. It’s the young guy who is in here sometimes and may or may not not be related to the boss. Someone is at the counter so I go for a walk around the shop to see what is new. They often have ancient soda brands I remember from my youth which I had assumed had gone out of business. Thinking about it now, that stock is probably as old as me.
One of the things I enjoy about this place is the bottle of wine on the shelf which is priced at 80 euros. That is a lot of money for a bottle of wine, but if you had the cash and wanted to splash out on a nice Bordeaux from a reputable wine merchant then why not? Except this is not a reputable wine merchant and none of the people who are in here at 2am know anything about wine.
My best guess is that the owner is banking on someone coming in here drunk, grabbing that thing off the shelf and paying for it with their card without looking. There is a thick film of grease and dust on the bottle, meaning that nobody has been that stupid for quite some time, but the Nightshop owner in this for the long game. He can wait.
The holdup at the counter is a girl who has not brought enough money with her. She is trying to purchase 1 packet of peanuts, 3 bananas, 1 bottle of wine and 1 box of condensed milk. She is only short on money by about 50 cents. There is nothing in the world that would convince the Nightshop owner to let even a penny go unaccounted for, but she has figured that the guy working tonight might be vulnerable to her charms.
She is pouting her lips at him, twisting her hips. Admittedly the girl is pretty fit but the guy is having none of it. He has actually let me off in the past when I've been short so I'm guessing this girl must try it all the time. He serves me while she's still flirting, batting her lashes now, upping the game a notch.
I consider offering her the 50 cents she needs, but then decide not to. Who am I to interfere in this?
As I leave the store she is leaning over the counter, pulling her top down slightly. He looks at me, helpless, trapped between capitalism and carnal desire.