A Day In The Life

    "It's times like these I wish I had stayed at home," Robert Riley stated, staring down the barrel of a shotgun.  He allowed his gaze to travel from the barrel to the person holding the barrel, a man in a black ski mask who appeared to have some sort of nervous twitch. Behind him, he could hear the occasional spark from what used to be the security camera, but was now nothing but a bunch of sparking wires. Riley could still feel the heat emenating from the barrel from the discharge.

    "Shut up, man, just shut up!  I'm in charge here!"  The masked man punctuated the last statement by jabbing the barrel at Riley's face.  Riley moved his head to avoid the barrel, and shrugged.

    "Have it your way."  He said nothing after that, because he wasn't stupid enough to discuss freedom of speech violations with a shotgun-toting masked man.  The shotgun-toting man, however, didn?t seem intent on doing much else besides pointing it at Robert.  Riley and the man stared at each other across the convenience store counter.  Time passed.  Robert's gaze strayed to the clock hanging behind the thief--well, man, Riley decided.  The fellow hadn't asked for anything aside from Riley's silence.  The clock proclaimed that the two had been staring at each other for close to ten minutes.

    "So... what?s your name?" Riley ventured.  

    "Shut up or I'll blow your freakin' head off!" the man yelled.

    "Mind if I just call you Head?" Riley asked.  He didn't exactly know why he was saying these things, as he figured it was a good way to get his head blown off, but for whatever reason he couldn't resist.
    
    "Look man, you see this?  Do you see the boomstick I have pointed at your face?  I will blow your brains against the wall if you don't do exactly what I tell you!"

    "Well that's all well and good," Riley said slowly, "but you haven?t asked me to do anything yet aside from staying quiet, and I've done that for at least ten minutes and haven't gotten anywhere."  He raised an eyebrow at the armed man.  "So what're you here for, Head?  Do you want the register or what?"  Riley's mind was quietly admonishing him to the effect of "What are you thinking?  You're going to help this loon?" to which Riley replied to himself that yes, he was going to because it might increase his lifespan by a few years.

    "Uh..."  Apparently the gunman hadn?t thought things all the way through.  "This is my boomstick!  Don't make me shoot you!"

    "Yes, we've been through all this before," Robert replied with a hint of exasperation.  "Is there any reason for your being here other than to show me your boomstick?  Something like, I dunno, money?"  He crossed his arms in front of him.

    "Head" looked at Robert, nonplussed.  "Wait...  There's more to it?"

    "More to what?" Robert inquired. "More to this?  To waving a gun in my face and shouting?"  The masked man nodded.  Riley sighed.  "Of course there's more to it than just that!  You gotta ask for something, like money or booze or drugs or... or something.  I give it to you and you leave.  I live, and quit my job after this."

    The man stood, his face screwed up in the process of thinking.  "Well... I think I just want a pack of cigarettes."

    Robert stared.  "That's all?  A pack of cigarettes?"  He shrugged and retrieved a pack from the case hanging by the counter.  He was about to give it to the robber when he noticed that the man was rooting about in his pockets.  "What are you doing?"

    "Hang on, I think I've got exact change," the thief replied.

    "Whoa, whoa, you got it all wrong," Riley said.  "Just take the cigarettes and go.  You don't have to pay, you're holding me up, remember?"

    "Oh.. oh yeah!  Thanks, man."  The masked man took the pack and walked out the door, whistling a tune.

    Robert Riley watched him go, then came out from behind the counter.  He turned off the lights and walked outside, locking the door behind him.  He paused, turned around, and went back into the store.  Stopping in front of the cash register, he proceeded to open it and remove the money, placing it all in his backpack.  After all, somebody had to do things right.