Reggie pushed open the door. A broken, faded ring played through the corner store. The shelves were nearly bare except for a few bags of plain chips. He walked up to the counter and reached into the chest pocket of his leather jacket. Out of his pocket, he pulled three bars, each an inch long, with the number five engraved on the top. Reggie slapped the metal bars down onto the glass counter.
“I'll take a pack of Reds.” He proclaimed in a low raspy voice.
On the other side of the counter stood a scrawny, pale man. Strands of dark hair danced on his scalp. His bloodshot eyes sunk into his skull. The lapel pin on his shirt read “Danny”.
Danny grabbed the red pack of cigarettes and set them on the counter. Dust flew up into the air and in his face. He looked down at the three bars and sneered.
"These will run you twenty-five bars.”
"What happened? I thought these were fifteen bars?" Reggie asked with a grunt.
Danny grabbed the cigarettes and slid them closer to himself.
"Well, when the closest place to get these went from ten miles to thirty, these went from fifteen bars to twenty-five. If you would like to get them there, be my guest. But you won't survive the journey." Danny replied with a snarky tone.
Reggie didn’t hesitate to respond, but not with words. The fiery anger burned through his entire body. He needed to respond with action. Danny heard a click and noticed the double barrels aimed toward his eyes. He saw the red slugs sitting inside the shotgun. Darkness overcame Danny. Reggie grabbed the blood-stained pack of cigarettes and his three metal bars from the counter. The door’s broken ring screeched out as he left.