“I have a sinking feeling you are low on iceberged lettuce,” Lemuel observes as they pass the vegetable counter. “Ditto for Dijon mustard, Mrs. Hammersmith’s low-calorie doughnuts, the imported French dressing, economy size Stay Free.” Lemuel stops in front of an item he has not noticed before. “Yo! Like what is a Roach Motel, Dwayne? If someone checks in what would prevent him from checking out?”
Making his way past the checkout counters, Lemuel is saluted by Shirley. She runs her fingers through her naturally wavy hair. “Z’up?” she asks.
“Nuch,” Lemuel tells her.
Shirley arches her body, pushing tiny pointed breasts into her white smock. “So I still got this soft spot for gate crashers.”
“Don’t have a cow,” Lemuel laughs.
A scrawny c
