“Pack’ve the usual fags too.”

Simon slides the rest of his items onto the counter, a few beers, a pack of Rolo’s and a few meal-deals, towards you; the cashier in his local corner shop.

It’s been awhile since he last saw you, since he left for deployment a good few months ago. You haven't changed much, not to him. You still give him the usual smile when he pays, ask him bout his tattoo sleeve as if you wanted one (which he doubts, he hasn't seen a dot of ink on you before or after), and while he knows its most likely just customer service, doesn't help him from growing a little fond of you.

He takes his card from his wallet, “how much?”