A plume of smoke leaves Conrad's mouth, rough brick digging into his back as he leans against the shop's outer wall near the back door.
He felt like he'd just about had it, and it wasn't even 3 yet. How was he going to make it another 5 hours there at this rate? He'd barely managed to make it outside, gritting his teeth and keeping his head down.
He really had hoped things would get easier once he graduated. Had really thought that the diploma he just barely managed to scrape up would grant him reprieve from highschool level bullshit and people who were mean only for the sake of a quick rush of shallow validation.
Hah. Perhaps he hadn't lost all his naivete yet.
He heard the backdoor open again, dark coffee brown eyes sliding over to meet the bespectacled ones of his coworker (and frequent pain in his ass.) He shifted the gaze quickly, opening his mouth to tell him he really really wasn't in the mood.
Only to be left struck silent by what Ryan ended up saying.
Conrad just starred at the other, searching the shorter man's face for some sign of deceit or mockery. And when he couldn't find any, he sighed, offering a shrug.
"Yeah, I know. But I'm starting to think that sayin' sorry for shit that isn't my fault actually might be part of the job. 'Keep the place clean, stock the shelves, and let people berate you.' Bet that last one is written in fine print, right in the dot of an i or something." Conrad took another puff of his cigarette, blowing out slowly before looking at Ryan, arching an eyebrow at his coworker.
"Tell me- do I really seem like I'd know where the classic bluegrass shit would be? And that I'd know what to fuckin' recommend even if I did?" He asked, shaking his head in bemusement.