It was a hot summer afternoon in the Ronnytown. The blazing sun watched over the sea of red roofs, tall and short buildings of various shapes and kinds under unluckily a cloudless blue sky. From time to time you could notice a lone car or a bike skipping through now deserted streets and alleys of the small town. Not even animals seem to be brave enough to leave sheltering shadows of corches and bushes that burning day.

Waves of heated air flew above the frying asphalt roads twisting the horizon with countless mirages, making the dreamy town look even more unreal.

Sound of crickets and spitting of garden sprinklets was all that could be heard in the silent neigbourhood. No chirping of birds, no rustling of trees, not even a tiniest breeze of wind...

In one of those sweaty, lazy afternoons in the midist of town a worker of the local convinience store decided to take a brake for the time being because of the apparent lack of customers. Wiping out his forhead from sweat a young blond cashier turned the "open" sign on the glass front door to "closed", immedietely after retreating to the cold shadow of the counter.

Only buzzing of airconditioning and fridges resouned inside the small, empty store. The blond cassier fell on the counter chair sighing deeply, rubbing his tired eyes. Just as he was going to close them and let himself drift into the state of relaxation a lound banging on the door shook him out of it.

Bang Bang Bang

With annoyed look the young cashier glanced at the door. A blurred silhouette of a man was throwing a long shadow at the shining in the sun part of the floor. It was impossible to made out details about that silhouette but the cashier had a good or rather bad idea of who that was. Cursing undeer his nose the man hid behind the counter hoping that whoever was behind that door didn't notice him because of the blinding sun.

Bang Bang Bang

-I've seen you bastard! Don't think you can hide from me! I was spotting hidden vetnamese snipers from a mile when you were still wetting your dipers!- Sounded a muffled old voice beneathe the glass door.

The young cashier gritted his teeth in irritation standing up from the floor.

-We are closed right now! Come back in an hour!-

-In an hour? You are making me walk all this way in the sun shitting with fire on the entire neighbourhood only to brush me off with some half assed "We are closed"? As hell I'm gonna go back with nothing! Do you want me to call for your boss boy? Tell him how shitty job you are doing?-

The cashier clentched his fists trying to keep control over himself. After few seconds of silence he finally walked up to the front door trying to put as neutral expression on his face as he could.

-Ok. But buy and leave. The store will be closed for an hour.-

-Don't worry your pretty heady over that. I know how to manage my time instead of you.-

The cashier flinched in anger but still tried his best to keep calm. Reluctantly he leaned the door. And just as he did a wave of heat pushed at him assaluting the cool inside of the shop. He watched with regretful eyes how much precious cold was wasted in one go. Opening the door wider he hastily gestured for the man to walk in.

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At that moment the most bizzare figure that this small town ever witnessed entered the convenience store.

A worn out, brown leather golf bag with only one stick hanged from his shoulder. You couldn't clearly see his face as a green boonie hat was mysteriously hiding his wrinkled eyes from the sun. He wore a dark green military uniform that seemed to have its better days long behind and brown polished boots squiking each time they touched the floor.

Even though he was limping on the left leg you could see some strange sharpness to his moves, a calculated precision with which he took his every step. His sharp brown eyes scanned the surrounding not missing out a single detail. As if trying to notice some hidden threat behind shelves full of frozen meals and cleaning accesories.

He stopped to inspect closer a yellow rubber duck.

After staring at it suspiciously for few seconds with no apparent results he resumed his limping march murmuring something about bloody chinese under his big curved nose.

His bony hands and wrists sticked out from long patched-up sleeves. The whole uniform seemed to be stuffed with various items poking out from countless pockets making him look somehow bulky. A revolver handle by his right side swayed inside the holster with each longer step making a clicking noise.

-Well I don't expect a damn birthday cake but you could at least say "Good day" when you see your own frigging customer. They call it "good manners". Never heard of?-

Sounded old man's low throaty voice.

It was merely a minute and the cashier already had the urge to strangle the old eccentric man. But he only answered with very forced smile but cold tone.

-Good afternoon Mr. Spencer.-

The old soldier-golfist took off his boonie hat and threw the worker a harsh look from beneath his thick grey eyebrows. With that expression his face often reminded an angry old eagle. Although distinctively bold and wrinkled one.

-" Good afternoon" he say. At least you can call the daytime right. I must praise you for that.-

Huffed the old man with sarcastic tone rumagging through one of the fridges in the corner.

The cashier rolled his eyes and sat down by the counter attempting to survive that day without any criminal record on his head. At least the aircondiction was still working. As long as it was the case, the cashier had faith in keeping his nerves in check.

-By the way boy. Who did you vote for in the election? They were talking about it the whole last week like if someone stick it inside their asses and they couldn't pull it out.- said Mr. Spencer with his face burried inside one of the freezers not really longer looking like searching.

The young man squinted his eyes expecting the storm to come. With a deep sigh he answered.

-No one. I didn't go on the election.-

The silence fell upon the small convenience store on the outskirts of Ronnytown. Only buzz of machines and noise of moving goods could be heard inside the cool room. The old soldier stood with his back turned to the blond shopkeeper saying nothing, continuing checking out wares without a word. Finally after few minutes the old husky voice broke out of Mr. Spencer's throat.

-You seem to be less stupid than you look...-

The young man looked surprised. He wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or flattered. It was the first time the old man said something that didn't sound like a complete insult.

-I live 83 years already in this country sonny and let me tell you this. Voting changes crap.-

-Not anymore. They wear fancy suits, pull fake smiles and give plastic handshakes. Pretending to be damn nuns while screwing hookers on right and left and drinking like fucking rhinos. You think that what they show you in television is real? Who is counting votes sonny? Who announces results? They play in one team since Nixon. You just scribe a name on that piece of paper to believe you have some control over this country when you have crap. Remember my words sonny. The only influence that you have is your own gun in your own hands. Nothing else.-

The cashier rolled his eyes. What was he expecting? Everything that Mr. Spencer does is just another stage build for his rambling.

Finally Mr. Spencer left the fridges hugging a small hill of products between his arms which without any warning dropped on the counter spilling more than a half of them on the floor. Taking out a bag of icecreams that he was holding in his mouth he threw the cashier a look telling that those wares won't pick themselves up alone.

After almost killing the coutning machine by angrily stabbing buttons the cashier finished counting the price. Just as he was going to get rid of Mr. Spencer for good...