Frank

… carefully rapped his arthritic fingers around the handle to the Kwik Trip door. His aged face grimaced with a shearing pain that shot through the back of his hand as the muscles tightened around the cold steel, and the bones ground one another into dust. He inhaled deeply, braced himself, and pulled. Ooh, goddam. The muscles in his jaw were exhausted from clenching his teeth so tightly, and when the door finally opened and he stepped inside, the blood rushing back into his hand felt better than… well, better than a cigarette, and Frank needed a cigarette. Peering through his spectacles at the counter, he spotted the box of Camel Cigarettes which he had been smoking since he was 23 shining through the glass that was the only thing standing in his way. Well, not the only thing.

A hairy arm and hand covered in grease, rested on top of the counter and left yellow-orange finger prints smeared across the surface. Then there was an enormous welp and Frank noticed the owner of the greasy hand was almost doubled over in laughter, grasping a little red straw in his other hand. Frank glanced to his left and stumbled upon quite the vision. A rather large woman, standing in a rather large puddle of Mountain Dew, lifted a rather large hand, with five rather large fingers, to her rather large forehead, and wiped off a rather large spitball that was still oozing with saliva. Holding back tears with incredible effort, she ran, as best she could, past Frank and out the door.