“How you doin?” he asks me. Standing in the checkout line at the local grocery store.
“Just fine. How bout you?” I reply.
“Good as could be expected” he says.
The man is skinny and aged, staring at me through glasses with thick, scratched lenses. He is wearing a hat, blue jeans, and a cut-off purple t-shirt. A smile splits his face, revealing teeth that look like they have been put to a grinding stone. The size and color of small corn kernels. A 40 is set on the counter. And from the man’s swagger and the wreak of his breath, I assume that it is his. Rightly so.
