“They make you guys get outta there?” the boy asked, as Anna found herself squeezed tight between the marshmallow-laden cereals and the slowly-cruising old women’s carts.
“Nah, you ever know a time when Flossie would turn away customers less they was barefoot or shirtless? Don’t say nothing on the door ’bout wearing bloody shirts—”
“I suppose…but what about the other customers?”
“Some left, more came in. Once we were at the counter it was all right. Our backs wasn’t messed up too bad. I wish that Scooter would’ve washed his hands before he ordered that sandwich, but it didn’t seem to bother him none. Made me a little queasy when he went to lick the mayo off his fingers and it’d gone sorta pinkish—”
“Sheesh.” The stockboy’s awed tone was simply too much for Anna; without apology she pus
