Colder Than Ourselves.
Surprises at Batlash
After a five block walk from the apartment, I finally made it to my second home: my own personal comic store. Batlash Comics was my dream job. Ever since I was a kid, not too much older than Bandit really, I’ve loved comics. Being surrounded by them all day is a childhood dream come true.
I sat Bandit down on the ground, pulling out my keys and opening the door then turning on the lights once inside. She wandered to the back of the store where her crate full of coloring books and comic-book hero figurines were – I never had to worry about her here, she either followed me around or was content doing her own thing. This place was her playground.
I wandered around the shop tidying things up for the day. Organizing the racks, placing more issues out for display, picking up random bits of trash that appeared on the floor, cleaned off the table that held the cash register; it was all pretty routine stuff.
At eight o’clock I finally turned the sign on the door to “Open,” plucked a random comic off the rack, and wandered my way back to the swivel chair behind the front desk to wait for customers. Every once in a while I would hear Bandit giggle to herself while playing with her toys, or hear her light footsteps totter past my chair.
I have no idea how much time had passed, but I had already finished five issues of Punisher when I heard a bell alerting me that I had customers. Taking my feet off of the counter because it was “unprofessional,” I also sat the issue down and said “Welcome to Batlash, if you need anything just ask.”
My customers were three boys, roughly about sixteen, maybe older. I got up and went to the other side of the counter, leaning against it, picking back up the comic I had just put down and pretended to read it while really analyzing the boys. That’s when I remembered it was Wednesday.
“Shouldn’t you boys be in school?” I smirked, not looking directly at any of them, but down at the item in my hands.
I heard one of the boys hit his head on one of the racks and another cough.
The one that stood idly near the cardboard cutout of Wolverine spoke for the others, “Should be,” he shrugged, “does it matter?”
That’s when I noticed Bandit peeking around the legs of the cutout, she noticed me looking and put a hand over her mouth – a sign for me to be quiet.
I smiled, looking back at the boy, “not really.”
The boy turned his attention to the cutout and looked like he was about to say something, but that was interrupted by Bandit jumping out and screaming.
“Shit!” The boy stumbled backwards and fell over, Bandit laughing and running over to me in the process.
The other two boys began laughing, too. One of them went over to help the other up, “You squeal like a girl, Bert.”
He got defensive, “Hey, that wasn’t me. It was that… what was that?” He turned, looking around to see where she went.
I smiled and picked Bandit up, sitting her on my hip, “That was my daughter. Say ‘hey’ to the boys, Bandit.”
I sat Bandit down on the ground, pulling out my keys and opening the door then turning on the lights once inside. She wandered to the back of the store where her crate full of coloring books and comic-book hero figurines were – I never had to worry about her here, she either followed me around or was content doing her own thing. This place was her playground.
I wandered around the shop tidying things up for the day. Organizing the racks, placing more issues out for display, picking up random bits of trash that appeared on the floor, cleaned off the table that held the cash register; it was all pretty routine stuff.
At eight o’clock I finally turned the sign on the door to “Open,” plucked a random comic off the rack, and wandered my way back to the swivel chair behind the front desk to wait for customers. Every once in a while I would hear Bandit giggle to herself while playing with her toys, or hear her light footsteps totter past my chair.
I have no idea how much time had passed, but I had already finished five issues of Punisher when I heard a bell alerting me that I had customers. Taking my feet off of the counter because it was “unprofessional,” I also sat the issue down and said “Welcome to Batlash, if you need anything just ask.”
My customers were three boys, roughly about sixteen, maybe older. I got up and went to the other side of the counter, leaning against it, picking back up the comic I had just put down and pretended to read it while really analyzing the boys. That’s when I remembered it was Wednesday.
“Shouldn’t you boys be in school?” I smirked, not looking directly at any of them, but down at the item in my hands.
I heard one of the boys hit his head on one of the racks and another cough.
The one that stood idly near the cardboard cutout of Wolverine spoke for the others, “Should be,” he shrugged, “does it matter?”
That’s when I noticed Bandit peeking around the legs of the cutout, she noticed me looking and put a hand over her mouth – a sign for me to be quiet.
I smiled, looking back at the boy, “not really.”
The boy turned his attention to the cutout and looked like he was about to say something, but that was interrupted by Bandit jumping out and screaming.
“Shit!” The boy stumbled backwards and fell over, Bandit laughing and running over to me in the process.
The other two boys began laughing, too. One of them went over to help the other up, “You squeal like a girl, Bert.”
He got defensive, “Hey, that wasn’t me. It was that… what was that?” He turned, looking around to see where she went.
I smiled and picked Bandit up, sitting her on my hip, “That was my daughter. Say ‘hey’ to the boys, Bandit.”
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Thanks for reading, lovelies :)