~*~

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Man, that's a nice set of legs. What time do they open?"

Scalding hot coffee, meet my face.

~*~

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Excuse me. Do you want to fuck or should I apologize?"

I think it's decaf. And is that nutmeg I taste?

~*~

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Hey, listen. You're really cute. Whaddya say we grab a bite to eat?"

Silence. Then, meekly: "Uh..."

"And after that, we could totally have sex."

Man, I hate decaf.

~*~

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Hey, listen. You're really cute."

"...huh?"

"My name's Jack, what's yours?"

The lovely girl behind the counter with the big mug of steaming hot decaf crunches her eyebrows together in the cutest way. "Melinda."

"Listen, Melinda. When's your break? You want to grab something to eat down at the hamburger shop across the street?"

"I... uh..." She blushes. "Sure, I guess."

"And after that, we could..." I snap my mouth shut. What comes out next is scarcely a squeak. "Talk."

"Sure. But... uh, I've got to help customers right now, you know."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Sure. I'd be happy to--"

And that's when the doors bust open and the guys with the shotguns burst in, screaming at the top of their lungs.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

For fuck's sake.

~*~

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, Melinda. You sure can."

The lovely girl behind the counter with the big mug of steaming hot decaf crunches her eyebrows together in the cutest way. "...how do you know my-"

"Listen, in about..." I check my watch. "Ten seconds, a bunch of assholes are going to burst in here with shotguns to rob this place. Do me a favor and hit the silent alarm, won't you?"

Melinda's eyes light up. "Is this some sort of joke? Did Terry put you up to this?"

"No. Listen. Just hit the button, all right? They're about five seconds away from coming in here and--"

The doors bust open.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

~*~

"Can I help you, sir?"

"You sure can, Melinda. I've got a gun in my pocket right here and unless you hit that silent alarm I'm going to blow your pretty lil' brains out, all right?"

The lovely girl behind the counter with the big mug of steaming hot decaf crunches her eyebrows together in the cutest way. Frankly, I'm starting to get sick of it. "...what?"

"Hit that silent alarm. Hit it right now, or I'm blowing your fucking brains out. Is this really that tough to figure out?"

"Did Terry put you up to this?"

"JESUS CHRIST WOMAN JUST HIT THE FUCKING AL--"

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

~*~

"Can I help you, sir?"

"No, you stupid bitch. You can't."

I turn around and bellow: "THIS IS A ROBBERY! EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

People start screaming. A slumbering security guard springs to his feet. Somewhere behind me, I can hear Melinda fumbling around for the silent alarm. About fucking time.

Reaching into my pocket, I fish out a cigarette, grab my lighter, and ignore the security guard as he points a gun at me and starts shouting. I spend the next few seconds lighting the tip, waiting patiently.

The doors bust open.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE FL--"

A shotgun blast thunders somewhere in front of me. The security guard's chest bursts into bright red viscera, then he's down. A moment later and the whole room erupts in gunfire.

For fuck's sake!

~*~

"Can I help you, s-- Oh my God. Your nose is bleeding..."

"I think I'm having a seizure. Call 911."

Melinda quickly nods, reaching for the phone. Several people behind me step forward, asking me if I'm all right. The room's spinning a little, but I should be fine.

Hopefully, this time will be all right.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

Melinda's on the phone when they bust in, shotguns bristling. They go after the security guard first -- knock him down to the floor and take his gun. I drop with everybody else.

There's three of them. Three sets of ski masks and shotguns, with owners who bellow in hoarse, dull roars. One of them points the shotgun to Melinda, who's still on the phone. She's frozen with fear.

"DROP THE PHONE YOU STUPID BITCH!"

For FUCK'S SAKE!

"DROP THE PHONE!"

Melinda opens her mouth to say something, but by then the shotgun's muzzle is belching out a tongue of flame and then she has no mouth, no face, no eyebrows to crunch together in the cutest way.

~*~

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

"Drop the phone, Melinda." She stares at me with bright, blue eyes. I'm bleeding from both nostrils and the throbbing in my head is getting much worse. My vision starts to wink in and out.

"Wh... wh..."

"Drop the phone. *Now*." I put force behind it, hoping to get through to her. Numbly, she nods and drops it.

"I SAID GET ON THE GROUND!"

The butt of the shotgun smashes like a sledgehammer against the back of my skull. For a second, I see nothing but lightning and stars, then I'm eating linoleum.

One of them throws a burlap bag over the counter. "FILL IT UP!" He roars. "FILL IT UP YOU STUPID FUCKS!"

Tellers scramble. I get used to the taste of blood on my tongue and try to stifle the feeling of nails pounding into the back of my skull. Then, just as they're grabbing the money and getting ready to go, one of them starts to panic.

"Shit! Shit shit shit SHIT! Cops, man! Sirens!"

"What?! How the fuck did they--fucking hell! Grab a hostage!"

A little boy next to me squeals as one of the men grabs him by the hair, dragging him to his feet. I don't need to peek into the future to know where this is going.

I fight through the stabbing anguish and close my eyes.

~*~

"I SAID GET ON THE GROUND!"

Dizzy as hell, on the verge of vomitting, with a head full of rattling bumblebees, I still manage to duck just before the butt of the gun hits. And then I'm spinning around, my hands whipping up to grab the shotgun and tear it out of the surprised robber's hands.

I don't hesitate. I don't even think. I just pull the trigger.

There's a sharp jerk, a spasm as the gun kicks in my hands. Half of the man's face just disappears in a blur of orange and red, and then he's nothing but meat splattered on the ground.

His two pals turn their blank stares on me. I pump the shotgun hard, fire once, pump it again, fire twice.

The last shot misses. My throat and chest are enveloped in warm heat, followed by what feels like a thousand needles spearing into my skin.

~*~

The first man's head splatters moistly on the ground. His two pals just stare blankly at me.

I pump the shotgun once, fire, pump it again, then pause to aim. This time I get him -- straight in the chest. He slumps to the floor.

My hands start to shake. Colors flash, twist, and swirl into a maddening pastiche of a Dali painting. Blood pours out of my nose and I feel my muscles firing off like broken circuits. Then everything is black and I drop.

~*~

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