...not me, some other guy
ah got it!
ah got tha winnin' tickut.
ahm retiring raht now.
here's the ticket.
the bastard collects his dry goods in the narrow store and tries to make his way past this "rich guy"
the asian proprietor eyes the bastard suspiciously, like i just got one over on him. i suppose he does that to everyone.
he kind of looks like the kind of guy who got lucky and instead of living in a cardboard box under a bridge in the shibuya district (you should really read all idoru and all tomorrow's parties by gibson. which reminds the bastard, i need to finish virtual light one of these days), he ended up running a yellow windowed smoke shop/convenient store on 33rd street. his nails are like wooden claws and like i said, he looks like he's suspicious of being found out for whatever it is he's really doing there.
"three dollar sir."
"ah'll take it here. ahm retiring."
i turn to the man and smile and say, "three bucks? hell pal, you must have some low standard of living"
the store erupts with laughter. the bastard walks out. fade to street. roll credits.