Thaw
“Are you a technician?” The old man didn’t move. “You have a license?”
“Buddy of mine does,” I said. My hands were damp. “Power surge fried the compressor. I need the board today.”
He pulled a box from the shelf and set it between us. He scribbled on a pad, tore the sheet, and slid it over.
“Four thousand,” he smirked. “Best price.”
I stared at the paper. I didn't have four thousand. I was already drowning. No one was giving me a loan.
“Fuck,” I said. “Fuck you. Fuck this store.”
He shrugged. He didn't care. Why should he?
A week’s food. Gone.
My wife thaws. The rot spreads. The stench. The neighbors. The police.