“You know, by England.” She was behind the register again, typing and chewing gum.

“Uh, yeah.” He shifted uncertainly and thumbed through his wallet for a ten.

She grabbed the bill, bagged the items in one fluid movement – “six twenty eight” – then handed back his change, and he started the long walk out; the door was maybe fifty feet, and the parking lot beyond invisible behind paperboard but sunny – or, no, wasn’t it night now? – and something made him turn.

“Why a two item limit, anyway?”

“Hey, don’t ask me, I don’t work here.” Helpless smile.

The chords were unhooked by now; she took the cash register under her arm and followed him out the door.