You shove the bottle of bourbon across the counter to the twenty-three-year-old liquor store clerk who knows you by your first name. Upon the realization of this reality, you die a little bit inside. Well, a little bit more at least. Hopefully this bottle will help stave off the fear of the insane world you live in long enough for you to fall into at least a restless and non-recuperative sleep.
As Brad (you know his first name, too) rings up the bourbon you glance on the counter a basket full of green orbs you’ve never noticed before. A simple cursory examination reveals the verdant balls to be limes. A bright pink sign declares the price as fifty-five cents (two for a dollar!). A small white bubble attached to the price mark implores you to not contract scurvy.
Great, one more thing to worry about.
You grab two of the limes and pass them to Brad. You’ve already got enough reasons to fear for your teeth.