Stan stood to Randy's side, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat and his forehead leaning on the edge of the countertop. it stank like beer and cigarettes in the store, it stung his nose, and he hated it.

how he was even allowed in with his dad to buy alcohol with him was beyond his intelligence, it's like the cashier was a moron or something.

Stan sighs, glancing around a bit before looking back down at his boots. everyone seemed like morons to him at this point, this sucks.