#obustavi

obustavi started following you

>You stick close to the trees until you reach the end of the drive where the car had picked up earlier in the week, and find the fencing Elias has pulled you through. Wriggling through the rails, you hop out onto the street and, head down, head off in (what you assume to be) the direction of the main street, or at least some shops. You pull your fringe more down over your eyes - before changing your mind and digging a pair of sunglasses out of your pocket to go over the eyepatch. Slightly less conspicuous, you hope. Halfway down the street, you lean over a trash can to spit up black shit. Nasty.

>You pass a few stores without slowing down, until you reach somewhere selling alcohol, where you linger outside the window to survey the wine selection. You can pick that up after you run your personal errand, you figure. And your personal errand is...not all that legal, actually. Maybe you should go for the wine first. Letting yourself into the store, you peruse the aisles for a few moments before picking out something that should fit with the kind of meat Elias is bringing back. You consider a few different sauces in your head, before selecting a bottle of red and taking it to the counter. As an afterthought, you take a bottle of battery acid vodka to join it, placing a few notes on the counter without making eye contact with the server.

>Back out on the street, you swerve past a few citizens, who eye you suspiciously. You carry on purposefully until you reach a drugstore, letting yourself in and floating along the aisles furthest away from the counter, pretending to check out cough drops and hair dye. Another customer enters and you drop down to a crouch, out of view from the cashier manning the only till in use. Fro down here, you direct your sunglasses at permanent hair colorants, your remaining eye roving around in search of security cameras. There's a couple but you estimate you can probably block what you are doing with your coat. (You quietly curse your missing eye, unaware that its blind spot shields the third security camera from your view.)

>Straightening up, you unzip your jacket, on the pretense of being too warm, and drift around the aisles until you reach the section for pain relief. Everything here is weak, but enough of it would make a difference, right? Leaning up to inspect a box on the top shelf, you let your coat cover the gap between your torso and the shelf, pulling a few lower down boxes into your inside pockets with your free hand. Tipping your sunglasses down your nose, you tilt your head to one side to scrutinize the writing on the back, switching hands to push another box or two from the migraine relief shelf into your pockets. Setting the box down, you step back, drawing your coat around you again before moving along the aisle and dropping to your knees. Down here, you can set stuff on your lap before you pocket it.

>Sounds stupid, but it's working, so far.

>It occurs to you that you could probably scrape together a few licks of money to pay for all this but...ehhh. You dive a hand in the pocket with your wallet and pull it out, surveying the remaining fifteen bucks or so hiding in its leather pockets. You aren't wasting this on shitty medication. Besides, you are confident of outrunning anyone once you get outside, even if anyone notices.

>Rolling your shoulders, you zip your jacket back up, thankful it was baggy to begin with to disguise the boxes of mainly pain relief pills lining the inside. When you stand straight again, the door closes behind the other customer, and you glance over to the counter where the cashier is dealing with what appears to be someone's order of medication. He takes a couple of boxes off the shelf behind the counter, and you perk up a little, the metaphorical scent of prescribed pain medication on the air. (At least, that's what you imagine is going in the paper bag, anyway). You pad around the shelves, weaving your way towards the counter whilst the cashier is distracted. Lowering yourself in an almost predatory fashion, you approach a little quicker, oblivious to the rest of the store. 

Doesn’t it hurt more to type then?

Even your hands?

Everything?