check and mate.

he sighed again, this one sounding a bit more like a groan, his frustration bleeding into the noise. the tip of his shoe nudged the closest deflated bag of chips, the crumbs oozing out like stuffing from a ruined plush bear. “fuckin’ douches...” he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, standing to his full height so that he could see the exit in which the perpetrators fled. “did they look to be my age? must’ve been some ‘friends’ of mine...” the word friends is said with absolute distaste, as if he were saying something different -- something more like ‘TAXES’ or ‘CRIMINALIZE WEED’.  “they try this again... and -- and I SWEAR -- they’ll be leaving with broken bones.” he felt very small and very pathetic after this was said though, because he knew there would never be a chance for him to get even.

he doesn’t look up when the figure approaches the counter -- doesn’t acknowledge their presence until they clear their throat. they’re saying something about needing more bags of ice -- MORE THAN the two they had clutched in each fist. he sighs with (mental) eye roll and promises them that he’ll look in the back. he fully intends to waste a solid five minutes back there on his phone however, only place he seemed to have access to SOME privacy. though, while on his journey, he passed by one aisle that seemed to be UTTERLY TRASHED. he looks to the nearest customer, giving them a tired look. “didn’t happen to see who did this, did you?”