They captured Jared’s attention on their third trip through the snack aisle. In most cities, he would have been a relatively perceptive Assistant Manager, but living in Vegas had reconditioned the part of his brain that measured eccentricity. He squinted as the tallest among them–about four feet–grasped for a can of Pringles, its turquoise-tinged hand straining to reach the shelf. All five wore white sequined jackets with holes perfectly sized for their additional set of arms.
“Folks, I can assist you down here,” he called out when they approached the checkout line. They gathered near his register and regarded him suspiciously. “Where is game?”, one asked in an accent Jared had never heard before. He thought perhaps it was Portuguese.
“Game? Well, uh, there’s plenty of games outside,” Jared replied, pointing in all directions. “This is a CVS.”
The tourists simply blinked.
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