Teenage Wino

Leon was six foot eight, well into his fifties, and wearing a suit of brown tweed. He and his dog, Millie lay sprawled out on the floor, and when I heard the bell-ding and felt a rush of cold air, I looked up to notice our potential customers frozen in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. Leon’s body was blocking the path. He was alive though. It was obvious because he was snoring.

“Just step over him,” I said casually, with a smile. “Would you care to try some Cabernet Franc?” I motioned to the bottle in my hand, from which I’d just poured generously into my own goblet. I stamped out my cigarette and had a quick peek in the mirror lined cabinets, lit from within, showcasing neat rows of cigars in their pretty wooden boxes. I wiped the purple stains from the corners of my mouth and licked my teeth, suddenly self conscious, before turning back to my guests, who stood in the center of the shop looking freaked out.

This was World Wide Tobacco and The Wine Shoppe. The store I helped run a…