“Did you remember to mop the floor last night?” Gloria asks as I count the cash in the register. She‘s sliding a revolving wire rack of terrible sunglasses back and forth in front of the window, in search of maximum visibility.
“Of course,” I lie.
“Must have been a lot of people with muddy shoes in this morning.” She sniffs the air in front of the counter as she walks by. “Has someone been smoking in here?”
“The morning coffee guys bring the smell in. You know how it is.”
“Right.” She eyes me across the counter and I try not to stare at the swath of visible scalp and white roots running through her black hair like a skunk crawled on her head in the night and she hasn’t noticed yet.
“You’re looking a bit scruffy there,” she tells me before I leave. “Keep that beard neat if you’re going to have it.”