Cire, an A4 sheet of paper with a serious meth problem, opens the door to a shop making the old fashioned bell give off a trademarked sound. An old man sitting at a counter looks up to catch sight of him.
"Are you well Cire?" the shopkeeper screeched autisticly.
Cire does not respond and merely slams down 20 big ones on the counter. That's 20gs my dudes, so much cheddar you could've made a fairly decent lasagna for 3 obese men.
"Ah so you want the usual?" said the poppin shopkeeper.
Cire nods once, then twice and finally a third time before he finally wrestles control of his head back from his spasming neck muscles. The shopkeeper went into the storage room and got a wheelbarrow full of boxes and brought it round the front of the counter.
"Don't forget to bring that back now. The wheelbarrow of course not...them." the shopkeeper whispered sensually in Cire's general direction.
Cire, being on the spectrum just flipped him of and wheeled the wheel barrow straight through the door without opening it. He tore off down the road making car noises as he went leaving John's Dicount Shit Opinions in his wake.
