Friday morning. Heading in to work at 9:30. I stop in the bodega on the next block for my fortifying V8 and my mind-numbing morning NY Post. It's not a good day without a dose of Page Six. Nothing seems amiss and it's not particularly busy. But it is broad daylight. The morning clerk rings me up. I hear a shout from outside the store and I look over. A medium sized gray rat comes walking in the front door. He walks along the baseboards, notice I say walk, not run. He turns and follows the line of the checkout counter, passing directly in front of my feet. I'm not particularly afraid of rats, and watch in bemused fascination as he passes by me, hangs a right and disappears under the counter across the aisle. The cashier notices and expresses his dismay. He looks at me in shock and embarrassment, unsure what I'm going to do. I shrug my shoulders and hold up a hand to wave goodbye.
"Rat." I say and pick up my bag and go.
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