by Andrew Seccombe

Of course they stole stock.

Ice cream, chocolate, corn chips, jam and cream swirls, jelly babies, mints, wafers, gum, cough drops. It was easy to do. Just write it up as damaged goods or make it disappear yourself. They’d only ever notice at stock-take. That was way off. You’d never get away with it in the pharmaceutical section though. They kept a very close eye on that. Had to.

Adam Larson climbed to the top of his stepladder. He looked at his watch. Friday 4.19pm. Bloody ‘el. He yanked over the box of mild chilli mix cans and grabbed a few. He liked his chilli hot. Mild was for wankers.

He slotted them into their section on the shelf. Coins into the machine. Forty more minutes and he could go and see Susie. Pre-mix bourbon, cigarettes, a shag and her record collection. That was his favourite Friday night.

“Madame Arsehole...”

Ed’s personal remix of his name. He hated dance music.

“Up for an ice-cream? We’re due a break.”

Sounded okay.

“Mark’s not around?” Adam didn’t feel like getting in the manager’s bad books tonight. He just wanted to finish the week unscathed.

“Haven’t seen him all afternoon. Let’s go. Cool room’s calling.”

They gave a quick wink to Sandy, one of the cuter deli assistants and slipped behind the counter. The door of the refrigeration room opened like the airlock of a shuttle. Pity it wasn’t outer space. Dead meat deepfreeze. That’s all. They flicked on the light and shut themselves in.

Ed had already stashed a carton of four Chocorock ice-creams behind a few slabs of silverside. Wrappers off. And in. Fuck they tasted good. Every time. Little bits of dissolvable chocolate to find in the creamy dome. Cookie pieces too.

“Sandy was giving me the eye again. Squirming for it she is.”

“Lucky you.” Ed would always tell you about the latest girl who was weak at the knees. Last week, this week, next week.

“Yeah she’s about to hatch any time now I reckon. I got a few more eggs in the pan though. Alicia at check out wants a bit too. ”

Adam nodded, but was attentive only to his ice-cream.

The cones disappeared and only frosted breath remained.