Spencer takes a pistol to a convenience store
RATHER OBVIOUSLY
holding a pistol at the ready under his orange Lemmy vest, Spencer approaches the convenience store.
TO GET INSIDE
the convenience store, Spencer has first to negotiate his way through a mob of morbidly obese folks, both sexes, all ages. The place is very popular with their physical type. Just as he manages to squeeze within arm's length of the automatic door, Spencer's feet are whisked off the ground, and he's washed inside on a tidal wave of cellulite.
Continued
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with the usual intentions, and learns
a vital lesson about the food services industry.
He almost trips over a punk girl squatting among puddles of crankcase grease in an empty parking space out front. When he bumbles into her, she arches her back and hisses like an alley cat.
She's a tattooed teen, short and scrawny due to childhood malnutrition, with about nine pounds of crumbly metal embedded in her eyebrows, nose, ears, lips, chin, nipples and navel.
Under her threadbare tee shirt, this punk girl has concealed a pistol, almost as obviously as Spencer's. She's plainly plotting to rob the place, just as soon as the methamphetamine she's gobbling kicks in.
Inside are more morbidly obese folks. They make the plump customers at Lemuel's look like starved fashion models.
The counter help is a lanky college boy with the pure face of a Buddhist monk. Having the time of his life, he cries out to everybody at once, "Here! Let me help you with that!"
The college boy slides between car-sized love handles to assist in the great feed. He slops chili on three-quarter-pounder pork sandwiches, and ladles sour cream all over bushel-baskets full of nachos.
