Brice headed up to the counter and took a deep sighed when he saw the glass crack bottles for sale behind the bullet proof glass. It wasn’t necessary to encourage bad behavior. Everything valuable was stocked behind the counter. Condoms, lighters, and cigarettes were passed to someone after they requested it by pointing. The clerk read nor spoke English.
“Man, get rid of those bottles.” Brice said, pointing at the crack bottles. A curly haired man with half open eyes continued chatting on the phone. The clerk charged for the beer without looking at him. Brice tossed the can into the rotating glass, built in the center of the bulletproof structure. “I need a bag.”
The Arab reached down for the money in the silver coin tray. Brice glared at him. He responded by tapping the tray and speaking louder in his native language.
He’ll take them down, if he wants the money, Brice thought. He understands English when it’s important to him.
The Arab took the bottles three at a time throwing them under the counter. Brice balled his bills, dropping them in the tray. He wouldn’t leave this BS. His neighborhood grew from a gritty and tough Detroit city. It affected his soul, making a fighter out of him. He knew he could bring dignity and respect back to his neighborhood.
Brice scooped up his change and bagged his beer in the bag provided. The clerk went back to chatting on the phone. What was so important he wouldn’t put the phone down and give good service?
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