by Amanda Lawrence Auverigne

The man scratched his head as he stood behind the counter. He pushed the pile of books across the table and he looked at Linda with wide eyes.

Linda grabbed the books and she smiled at him. She moved to the large computer and she scanned the interior of each book quickly.

A loud beep poured from the computer and Linda stared at the screen.

“You have a fine. Fifteen cents.” She said.

The man shoved his hands inside his pockets.

He pulled out tangled rubber bands, yellowed receipts, soggy mints, rusted hairpins, broken pencils, twisted paper clips and red firecrackers.

He pulled a quarter from the pile of tiny explosives and he placed it on the counter.

“Sorry, I don’t have any change.” Linda said.

The man grabbed the quarter off of the table and he shoved it up his nose.

His eyes filled with tears and he coughed before three small coins fell from his lips.

The coins landed on the counter.

The man wiped his dripping nose with the back of his hand.

He snatched a dime off of the table before he turned and left.

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