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142

SOMEWHERE

A rough-looking man entered the corner store in , his very presence causing a ripple of discomfort among the customers. His clothes were filthy, and the overpowering stench of dirt, smoke, and alcohol surrounded him like an invisible cloud. He walked with a slow, deliberate gait, his eyes scanning the shelves for his usual poison.

Reaching the alcohol section, he grabbed a few bottles of the cheapest liquor available. As he made his way to the counter, he ignored the whispers and disgusted looks thrown his way. The cashier, a young woman with dark circles under her eyes, looked up and visibly recoiled. She quickly composed herself, though the disdain never left her eyes.

“Just these,” the man grunted, his voice a gravelly rasp that seemed to echo his rough exterior.

“That’ll be twenty-five bucks,” the cashier said, trying to maintain a professional tone despite her obvious discomfort.

The man pulled out a crumpled wad of cash from his pocket, peeling off bills and slapping
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