From V7:
"Thanks... Danny," she read over her glasses. "I'm guessing you're not a walker," she winked. "I'll see if I can't find it myself."
A step toward the sales floor and another customer's books slammed onto the counter, stopping him. He swiped the books' black bar codes in a sudden fury, ignoring the chatter of the decked-out baseball enthusiast he was ringing up. With one eye, he watched the old lady nimbly pick her way through the Saturday browsers toward the back of the store. The crinkly fabric of her track suit sparkled the harsh overhead lights.
I'm so fucking weak, he thought, raising a hand to the departing fanatic and his collector's books. I can't even stare down an old lady in the store.
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