Peach Cocaine

Hey, miss?”

Casey place the last can of peaches on the shelf before she turn politely to greet the customer.

“Yes?”

“Do you mind handing me four cans of those peaches?”

She promptly does as she is asked, barely flitting her eyes on the person standing before her and turns for the cans she had just freshly placed.

About ninety-percent of the time Casey doesn’t recognize her customers. She views them as a mesh of fish just swimming through the store, coming for what they need and vanishing into the void forever. Though some, lucky enough, place their eggs in a bed of rocks in Casey’s mind and nestle themselves there and she does distinguish them from the rest.

For example, Mr. Basil Millstone, who will buy canned cat food three times a week and six cans every time and of all the various flavors Quik Stop has. And every time Casey is surprised the store even has that many flavors, since Joey Young, another brilliant employee of Quik Stop, always restocks that area.

Secretly she believes that Mr. Millstone eats the cat food himself, Casey smiles inwardly as she turns to the customer, arms full of canned peaches.

In the midst of her turn she suddenly realizes who this pale countenance belongs to. Her eyes quickly flitter across his tattoo ridden arms and neck and travel up to meet his large brown eyes. It had only be three days ago since he was last here.

She hastily recovers and lets the shock roll off like rain drops on a raincoat, and smiles lightly at him, he returns the favor and bows slightly, his hands partly outstretched to receive the cans.

“Meet you at the register?” Pale Fish asks, taking the cans from her stiff arms.

‘There’s a self check-out,” Casey replies dumbly, she berates herself mentally, maybe, just maybe this fish is trying to bed himself in your mind and flirt?

You see, Casey does not, let me state clearly, does not normally take attraction to inked up boys who obsessively eat peaches, canned or not. She’s always found clean cut, Abercrombie wearing, jockey douches cute. Of course, those boys wouldn’t pay her a second glance, even if she were doing a headstand and charming a cobra at the same time. She hasn’t ever understood why she likes those types, especially since she isn’t the Prom Queen looking kind of girl and has never once laid foot in the land of cheerleading. Not that she has anything against it, oh no.

Casey is on the slender side, though she wishes her boobs were a tad smaller, wears thick black rimmed glasses, has short cropped, dyed dark red hair and has beautiful baby blues. Well, that’s what her mother tells her; Casey thinks them rather dull and lifeless.

Prom Queen, never. Gwar concert, yes please.

Anyway, she found herself leading the way to a cash register. Finding her place behind the clunky machine and counter, Pale Fish places them before her and she rings them up as calmly as possible, though her mind screamed COME ON CASEY, SAY SOMETHING CLEVER YOU BORING GIRL!

“I-uh,” Casey stuttered, stopped and stared, a woman with a super model thin body, huge, and obviously fake, boobs lithely strolled up beside the man. The seductress fish with long, wavy chocolate brown hair kissed him tenderly on the cheek and smirked like a bully.

Casey swore she saw a hint of frustration crawl across his face before he turned his head toward Seductress Fish and smiled, “Yes?”

“Got bored waiting in the car,” She muttered, giving Casey a fierce, mahogany glare. She quickly bagged the peaches and stuck out a rigid arm for one of the two to take the plastic bag.

Pale Fish smiles apologetically, gives Casey the money and grabs the bag. His surprisingly soft, tattooed fingers gently brushed over her hand as he did all of this.

Casey Wolton was left in awe, and also hoping she would never have to see either one of them again.