Fat boy shuddered when they walked in. “Oh, my god. Everything, absolutely everything, is in here.”
“Keep your toga on, fat boy. It’s just a pharmacy … general store … convenience market …”
“What do they call it, Aaron?”
“They don’t call it anything anymore. Maybe a ‘superstore.’”
“Since we’re here, I need cleansing facial cream and Preparation H.”
“And I need a box of Trojans and a Waterpick.”
“You get your stuff, I’ll get mine.”
“No, you’ll get lost in here. We’d better shop together. Excuse me, ma’am,” Aaron said to the cashier, “where would the condoms be?”
The blank-eyed pasty-pink cashier spoke into the loudspeaker. “Manager to the front, we have a customer who wants condoms.”
Aaron shrank from six feet tall to a little over three. The manager spoke from the back through another loudspeaker. “What kind?”
The cashier stared at Aaron. “Trojans. Lubricated, spermicidal.”
She repeated what he said into the loudspeaker. The manager had an other question. “Small, medium, large, or extra large?”
Aaron grabbed the loudspeaker. “That’s extra large, and if you don’t get your ass off that speaker, I’m going to come over there and personally fuck you with my extra large.”
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