I’m standing at customer service ringing through a customer’s groceries when I notice a woman in line staring at my name tag.
I stare intently back at her letting her know that she’s burning a stare-hole into my shirt.
Then I noticed something else, her teeth. Oh my God, I know those hell hound fangs. I know this chick, it’s Emma. Honestly, it’s the only way I recognized her because her appearance changed a lot.
I guess it’s inevitable. It’s a small world. I work in a local area and I sell food in a supermarket.
Her hair looked different, a little more blonde. Obviously a dye job. This girl and I were friends for many years, until the day she abandoned me as my divorce – as she claimed – made me not as upbeat as she desired.
Damn, I hadn’t seen her in twenty-three years. I thought, why…
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