The last changer

2: I dont like walmart's choice of employees

It had been a hard day. I was so tired, I felt like limping around like a zombie and yelling, "brains!"

Honestly, I think I'd be pretty convincing. I look like the end of the world has passed, I went to my grave and came back. My blond hair is so burnt, dirty, and eaten, that it looks like a brown rat's nest. I haven't gotten a haircut in months, which doesn't help. With it being so knotty, it keep it short. But now that it's longer, (almost past my eyebrows) I can't keep it tame not matter what I do.

And my clothes... don't get me started. My plaid shirt lost a few buttons, so I look like a pirate. My jeans are torn in who knows how many places. My sneakers were ratty before the fire. And my whole outfit's charred up.

I've never been much for clothes, but it's better to be clean than look like a hobo. Seriously, don't try it. In fact, just stay as clean as you can. It helps.

But anyway, I really needed new clothes, food, supplies, etcetera. All I had was three fives left, a water bottle with boiled creek water, a pocket knife, a small, ratty tent tarp, some chips and allot of trash in my backpack. So I went to Wallie world!

After cleaning up in the bathroom, and attempting to tame my hair, I grabbed a cart and went hunting for the cheapest stuff.

The shoppers glared at me like I was a hobo, which I pretty much was. But I tried to ignore them and continue shopping.

I found some bread, a cheap metallic water container, granola bars, duct tape, a survival blanket, and some rope. Before going to checkout, I checked my money to see if I had enough about three times. I did, but just barely.

The line was short. It was pretty early in the morning. The lady at the checkout kept talking to the girl in front of me. I considered going to another cashier, but it was my turn.

The lady had leathery skin, and bright red nails filed into claws. Her huge, orange teeth flashed whenever she talked, which was often.

"Oh, hehehe!" She cackled like a witch. "Well, how are you little boy?"

I didn't comment on the little boy comment. "Good."

"Well, you know how I am,"

"Well, not really..." I said quietly.

"Good!" She said loudly, cackling.

"I mean, everyone always says 'good' even when they aren't! Ehehheheh!!" She laughed. Her breath smelled like cheetoh puffs and expired onions.

She started scanning my stuff, and as the numbers raised on the screen I curled my toes. I was pretty sure I had enough, but I wasn't good at math.

I counted my money again.

"Ahh, you know us old people. Always crazy. What's your name, by the way?"
She asked.

"Why would you need to know?" My tone carried annoyance in it.

"I just like to remember all my customers..." She said in a sort of creepy voice. The same way a monster would say I love the taste of flesh.

I sighed. "Tristan."

As she scanned the duct tape, she stroked her chin in thought. "Intresting..." I heard her mumble.

"Oh, I mean, wonderful name! It must be amazing to have the same name as that actor... oh, what was his last name?" She said, thinking.

"McLean. Tristan McLean." I hadn't seen any of his movies, but girls talked about him like he was Johnny Depp or Justin Bieber.

Funny, I have a similar name to his. My last name is Chean; or at least I think it is. I've been up for adoption since I was three, and I can't remember my parents. Mr. June, the man running the adoption home, said they died in a car crash. But that's how everyone dies.