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Swipe. BEEP. “$1.79”

Swipe. BEEP. “$2.59”

Swipe… swipe…

Evan picked up the can of sweet corn and studied it briefly before seeing that the bar-code was damaged. It didn’t help that the GC Supermart that he worked at had equipment from the 80s. He held it in his hand as he began to manually enter the number.

The female customer standing across the register from him was a woman in her late forties. She was slender with an angular jaw and opaque sunglasses obscuring her eyes and cheekbones. She wore a knee-length sleeveless floral print dress, sandals, and held a wide-brimmed straw hat for her long, bleach blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail; She looked attractive though Evan didn’t give it much thought.

As Evan held the can, she saw his revealed forearm and on it, the exposed the tribal tattoo encircling his wrist. Evan was startled as she brazenly reached across the register belt, grabbing his arm to examine it and nearly causing him to drop the can.

“My word,” she said, lifting her sunglasses with her free hand. “That work is exquisite. Where did you have it done?” she asked.

Evan was too bursa escort taken aback to pull away. “Um, I did it myself, Ma’am.” He looked around to see if anyone else was watching but he was the only cashier on duty and there were no other customers in line.

“Really? It’s beautiful. Do you do them professionally?” she inquired. She finally released his hand.

“Uh, no, Ma’am, I have my own equipment, but I just do them on the side.”

“I’ve been looking to get a rose on my shoulder. Would you be interested in doing a paid job?”

Evan’s eyes brightened a bit. The twenty-three-year old struggled to make ends meet to pay for his classes at the local community college where he was working on his art degree. Paying for his portion of the crappy apartment he shared was difficult while working for minimum wage as a cashier.

“Yes, Ma’am, sure,” he said excitedly.

“Do you have a studio to do them at?” she inquired. His heart sank as he thought of bringing this woman to his dump of a pad, but she cut off his thoughts with a wave of her hand.

“Forgive me, what am I saying; of course, you don’t,” she said, turning away to root in her pocketbook before continuing. “Here, bursa escort bayan this is my card. I’m going to write my home address on the back. Come by tonight at 7:00pm with your equipment. Oh, unless you are busy tonight?”

“No!” he said, probably a bit too eagerly. “7 is fine, Ma’am.” He took the card which identified her as a real estate agent named Linda Andrews.

“Great,” she said with a giant smile. She pulled her sunglasses back down.

“See you then,” she said as she departed.

Chapter 1

Evan left work at 5:00pm and headed home to collect his things before going to Linda’s. His apartment was in a real shit-hole part of town. Even though his car was old and crappy, he hated having to park it on the street, but he didn’t have much choice. There was always a chance he was going to come out and find his forty dollar radio missing, or his tires slashed by some asshole just because.

He carried a grocery bag inside.

He undid the doorknob lock and both deadbolts securing his front door. Once inside, he called out to his roommate, Steven, but got no reply. He tossed his keys onto the shelf beside the door and saw that Steve had left a mess of the living escort bursa room again. His dirty pants were on the couch, dishes sat on the floor, and an empty pizza box sat on the coffee table. He sighed as he picked up the empty box and brought it to the trash barrel in the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, he discovered that Steve had finished off the leftover fried chicken from the night before as well. He sighed again. Luckily, he had had the forethought to bring home a loaf of bread and some bologna. Easy access to food was one of the few perks of a grocery job. Not that he got a discount or anything.

He sat on the couch with his sandwich and stared at it for a moment while he pondered the job that night.

If the tattoo that night was elaborate, he might be able to get $250-$300 for it, possibly more if it required multiple sessions. His take home pay from the grocery store was only around $350 a week as it was so this could be a nice score for him. Perhaps he would even make enough that he could spring for a dinner fancier than deli meat.

After finishing his sandwich, he went into his bedroom to change. He stripped out of his work clothes only to find little that was clean to change into. He ended up putting on a plain solid-color button down and a pair of jean shorts. They weren’t exactly “professional” looking but at least they were freshly washed. Sometimes that was the best you could hope for.

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