Weird Shapes

Tim opened his wallet to find nothing.

Well, not nothing, just nothing that he needed. Cash, drivers license, debit card, and even his blood donation card were all gone. Everything Tim owned as proof that he was a real person was gone. All that remained was a punch card for a bakery he won at bar bingo and a pocket sized schedule for the local semi-pro hockey team.

“Do you really need my ID for these cigarettes? I’m pretty sure I have a ten in my car if you can hold on a second…”

Tim knew the answer to this question. He had worked as a cashier for three years in college. He hated himself for even thinking to ask that question, let alone saying it, but at this point he was desperate.

“Yes,” sighed the cashier, who had most likely thought of very intricate ways to torture and kill people who asked him that question on a daily basis, “I really do need to see your ID. It’s the law.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Shit. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear me apologize, but…fuck, alright. Thanks anyway. It gets better, don’t worry.”

Tim didn’t really know why he added that last part. To give the kid hope, probably. To let to kid know that standing behind the counter at a gas station isn’t something that was going to last his whole life, even though it may seem like it. Tim was living proof that one can escape the prison that is dealing with the general public for more than 40 hours a week just to barely afford rent and whiskey.