I’m roaming and this prepaid bullshit don’t come cheap,” said the same elderly black man who was behind him in the line earlier. His glance momentarily fell upon his pathetic reflection in the store widow. This was probably the kindest tone the woman had ever taken with him, yet he had no idea what this child place was, or why he needed to call. What you need to do is call child protective services, young man.” The woman finally seemed to relax and leaned in closer to the boy so the people behind him couldn’t hear what she was saying. “I need some make-up like ladies use to cover up their spots,” he replied. It reminded Johnny of the white and orange curtains his mother once threw in the burn barrel due to their unattractive nature. “Young man, I can refuse to serve you if you wanna be hateful.” She placed her pudgy hands on either side of her extreme waistline.
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