The stare. I hate the way the cashier is looking at me. I walk around the store a bit. I feel like a dog searching for this magical stick. Chips. No. Chili pepper? No. Toilet paper? Still no. Every aisle and nothing. Walking towards the door, I caught a glimpse of it. There it is! Behind the counter. f**k. I didn't intend on having to ask for it. I stood behind a thin black woman. She had cigarettes, vodka, and a family size bag of chips. Should I just leave? This anticipation is killing me. The woman behind the counter rung her things up as I contemplate on leaving. I keep trying to tell myself how I don't need this little stick, that I'm fine. But, I know that I need it. I start to shake as the thoughts run through my head. Is there something inside of me? I look down and touch my stomac
