You head into the store on the corner, nervous about getting chased out like you've been used to. (You have to remind yourself you're not in The City anymore.) It's a whole lot smaller and sparsely stocked than the fancy stores taking up entire floors like what you remembered back then, and some noisy, squealy music is playing over the intercom. At first, you don't see anyone behind the counter, but a moment later, you hear a noise that you can only describe as pieces of soggy bread hitting a tiled floor, one after another. Your throat seizes up as it approaches.
Hopping up on top of a milk crate behind the counter is a tiny axolotl with a face of mush, tiny glasses, an oversized shirt, and a perpetually smug grin. He practically glistens in the most jellified way. He triggers fight or flight in you something fierce.
"Hey, my guy, how's it going?" he says.