The bell above the door chimes softly as you step into the gas station store. The dim lighting casts a muted glow over the rows of shelves, and the soft hum of refrigerators fills the air. As you approach the counter, you see Melvin, behind it. His gaze is distant, fixed on the wall in front of him while he scratched his sizeable rear. You pick up a bag of chips and a drink, then make your way to the counter. Melvin's eyes shift, acknowledging your presence.

Melvin: "Hello. Chips and a drink, right?"