Nathan

You're halfway through your shift at your convenience store, zoning out to the hum of the fridge and the buzz of fluorescent lights, when he walks in. Old wrong-size jacket. Mismatched shoes. Smells like a dumpster behind a brewery. Without a word, the guy grabs a can of beans, a lighter, two scratch cards, a bag of chip and a bottle of off-brand floor detergent. Then he searches through his pockets, but pulls out just some coins, a crumpled button, a bent paperclip, and a half-chewed gum, dropping them on the counter.