Trip to the Racetrack

I still had two packs in the truck.  I was low on bread and basic foodstuffs, but there was almost an entire cold pizza in the fridge, so I decided to go to the gas station and get cigarettes, beer, and soda instead of going to the grocery store. 

At first glance the Racetrack didn't look too crowded, but I had to pause for a moment to make a parking decision.  The logical parking space was partially blocked by a case of Natural Light and the open truck door of a late model Ford truck.  I maneuvered to a slightly more obscure parking space. 

I walked into the store and grabbed a 2-Liter of Coca-Cola and then picked up a 12 pack of Budweiser.  I walked up to the queue.  Ahead of me a stocky white trash woman complete with greasy hair, belly protruding through tank top and flip flops was purchasing five quarts of Old English 800.  Behind her was what I presumed was her mate, a younger looking gentleman with a faint mustache, a fitted cap, and a cheap looking but surprisingly unwrinkled black short sleeved button down shirt.

"And two packs of Marlborough lights," the white trash woman said in a shrill voice. 

It was only then that I noticed their child, who's dingy gray clothes blended in with the floor. He was maybe four or five.  Having none and only being one briefly a long time ago, I am not a good judge of children's ages.

The young man said something to the woman which was unintelligible and was in an urban accent. 

"Do you have rolling papers?" the woman asked the clerk.   The child looked at the candy displayed under the counter, but didn't ask for any or touch it.  An unattainable dream for him, I thought.  The clerk began to offer the woman the various rolling paper options.

Another Racetrack associate opened a new register and I walked up with my purchases.  I spent about sixty five dollars.