“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 b****y 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
