And The Conspiracy Theorist
This store was, at most, five feet wide. It seemed to run the length of the strip mall, about thirty feet deep, with a lone store clerk standing at the end of the hallway-shaped shop. From the entrance, Paulie could barely make the clerk out in this poorly lit store. He had to squint to confirm the man was smiling.
“Welcome to Mid-Market, buddy!” the clerk said enthusiastically, his voice bouncing off the drink coolers and snack shelves to Paulie’s left and right. Paulie thought he recognized the voice but the acoustics in here may have been throwing him off. He flashed his palm as a loose wave hello as he started browsing the many refrigerators filled with beer and other bubbly beverages.
See, the problem here was this man barely ever drank beer, wine, liquo
