Tonic

The heavy flakes sunk slowly through the cold evening wind, falling eerily through the stoic streetlights, their shadows flashing dispassionately and separate. The headlights drove silently along the deserted road, their tracks soon erased by the pressing flakes and trailing cars. A single figure walked slowly beside the empty street, alone and forgotten.

The metallic tone chirped hollowly throughout the empty store as the door pushed open, the chilling bell reverberating heartlessly on the still night air. Two soggy boots entered and ground heavily into the freshly mopped floor and stalked slowly up to the counter, past the vacant chairs and friendless tables.

I heard the droning of the bell and moaned softly. I slid on my protective, plastic gloves and moved reluctantly out from behind the counter, staring at the grizzled, shell of a man stalking noisily across the store. I smiled dully and adjusted my knives.

“What can I get for you?”

He didn’t answer, and continued to stare sickly, longingly through the glass. I shifted uncomfortably and my gaze fell across my freshly spoiled floor. I looked heavily up at him. His face hung unshaven, and he stood there draped in a heavy, black coat that hung dangerously about his hulking frame with black boots and matching black jeans sullied with darkened, crusty stains. His lips splayed apart and a creeping, guttural growl crept slowly between them, chilling the empty store more completely than the arctic howl outside.

“Give me… an Italian.” I nodded clumsily and reached for a clean knife. His voice was dark and gravely, like sandpaper dragging across asphalt. “I like the sandwich cold,” he continued, with a sick, teasing smile, like it was some sort of lurid joke. I started shivering and opened the bread drawer. I grabbed a fresh roll and placed it awkwardly on the counter, and cut across its middle with a guilty flutter. I could feel him watching, staring ravenously down through the curved spate of glass as if at any moment he was preparing to crash through and take it, soil it as well. My mouth was dry, and I swallowed painfully.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked.

“Give me a tonic.”

“A tonic?”

“Yeah a tonic - a coke!”

I bent over to grab a cup and I could hear him growling again, breathing heavily. I straightened up and he began to unbutton his jacket, staring straight at me, his mouth ajar, waiting. Even standing next to the fiery oven I couldn’t help from shivering. I thrust the cup and the bag into his expectant hands and took a step away from the counter, careful not to let his fingers brush mine. I punched in his order, and opened the register. He had exact change.

He turned away without a word and walked quietly towards the exit. I watched him leave the store with the bag swinging limply between his legs. The door rang coldly open and he teetered for a moment on the doormat and then shuffled out of view.

I saw him stalking off alone into the chilly night past the faceless cars and darkened windows, past every stranger’s stare and every lonely footstep. I watched him turn his key in the empty lock and push open the chime-less door, and descend the weighty stairs. I saw him walk heavily across the empty kitchen and sit heavily at the empty table and stare heavily at his cold sandwich.