|Photo: Graphplosivo/DeviantArt, used under Creative Commons license.|
Jane Doe pulls the bills from her pocket and counts out the correct number, handing them over. The cashier’s stare seems as weighty as the backpack Jane wears. Now she sees the tight line of the mouth, eyes hard and glittering as diamonds. She accepts the change thrust at her.
“Go on now, “ says the cashier shortly, jutting her chin toward the door. Why so rude? Then Jane remembers her backpack, the bedroll screaming, “Street person!”
“I said move along,” the cashier snaps.
Jane straightens. “I forgot something, “ she says coolly, and turns back toward the shelves.