The buzzer rang. It rang again. And again. All upon unhearing ears as the rain poured down in droves and the disheveled man stood, drenched. He pressed the button again and heard the faint sound of the buzz from the other side of the door, but no answer. He cursed faintly before turning back to head out into the street. A familiar click stopped him, and he turned to face the dark doorway with a equally familiar face within.
“Why are you here?” She asked.
“Rains cold and you took my car.” He said stoically as he continued to be battered by the ferocious downpour.
When she didn’t motion to come in he asked.
“I don’t think so, you’d get everything wet.”
He stared at her with listless eyes.
“Don’t look at me shack up at a motel or something. I can’t have you crashing here every fucking night.”
“I haven’t been here in a month.”
“Time sure flies.” She slammed the door in his face.
He stood there for another minute before turning and looking up at the skies, pleading the clouds to break their assault. They didn’t. He headed back down the street, eventually wandering into a small store. He blinked as even the dim lights blinded him. The clerk behind the counter stared at him, and was on the point of speech when the lights all went out. “Damnit,” Shouted the clerk as he tripped over the various boxes piled around the stores counter.
“Hell of a storm.” Said the man in what he thought was the clerk’s direction.
“Sure is, sure is.” The clerk mumbled from the corner of the room, barely audible over the roar of rain outside.
The two stood still for what seemed like an eternity, until finally the lights flickered and the man got a good look at the stout elderly shopkeeper, shuffling his way back to the counter.
“What’s your name son. And do you want anything or were you just escaping the storm.”
The man stood still. The rain hadn’t let down, but somehow the electric service had managed to pull through for them.
“Got any Newports,” the man rested his elbows on the counter. The clerk reached around and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the front of the counter. He tallied it up and and handed the pack over. The man reached into his back pocket and brought out his lighter and was about to light up when the clerk interrupted him.
“You can’t smoke in here, state law.”
“So what am I supposed to do, go outside.”
“You could come out back with me, got an awning.” The clerk grabbed a pack from the counter and showed the man through a creaky door into the shops back office, then past a large pile of boxes into the wet air. The sound was tremendous, but the man wasted no time, and soon he had a roll of tobacco and various chemicals held between his lips. The old man talked with his cigarette still in his mouth like and army sergeant’s cigar. “Looks like me might be spending some time together, what is your name afterall?”
“Matias”
“Bill,” The clerk extended his hand, “Well met.”
-David
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