础叠厂罢础滨狈「闯翱厂贬尝贰搁」

Its silent in the store. My boss is having a nervous breakdown, I just know it. The cash register is opened and unlocked, revealing all of the twenties (we have four) and allowing anyone who decides to walk by to just take what we have (which still isn't much, but). I fix my hideous green vest and watch as Henry emerges from his office, pinching the bridge of his nose. He almost falls on top of the counter, breath reeking in my face.

"You're gay, right?" He blurts. I lick my lips.

"I'm pansexual."

"Well, you have a gay haircut."

I look at my reflection from the CD case behind him. He continues as if he didn't insult my hair.

"Am I... unappealing?"

I take a second to answer. Do I want to lose my job? I can handle rent with my job at the Pub but I really want a new computer. Doesn't this count as sexual harassment? He is extremely unappealing and I think I should be paid extra just spending an eight hour shift with him and the squirrel on his lip. He dresses like Napoleon Dynamite and talks like a concerned man in a white van.

"You are very handsome, Henry." I tell him. He sighs.

"Then why won't anyone date me?"

I want to tell him its because he eats chopped onions but I keep my mouth shut and instead imagine a scenario where he meets the love of his life. An exact replica of himself, how they do it in the films. I guess its to show the viewers that they will find The One, and prevents hopeless teenagers from committing suicide. You may have depression but someone will love you so might as well suck it up, kiddo.

"Its because they can't handle your awesome." I say. He smiles, waving a dismissing hand at me. The door chimes and, giddy, he walks back into his office. Indie music plays from the speakers over head. The nervous breakdown has ended, and the Red Sea parts, the customer walking to the front desk. I close the register.
"Welcome to Henry's Hoard, what can I do for you today?"

Josh crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at me. I assume he's getting the vibe that I don't remember him but I do, and I want to ask where he got that t-shirt from but keep a straight face, trying not to distract myself. He quickly grabs a vinyl to his right and places it onto the counter. I pick it up, examining it in my hands.

"Christina Aguilera," I say. "Good choice."

He blushes and I take it that he was just busying his hands so I give it back to him and he places it onto the stand, face still red. He licks his lips.

"Do you have drum sticks?"

I reach under the counter and grab our paper that says the sizes, sliding it over to him.