The hits just keep coming...

The woman behind the counter generally wouldn't give you too much shit, and that was all right.

It was a place to go. A place to stumble when you needed that last 6-pack, 40oz, can of cope, taquito or thirstbuster. A place where you knew you could make it back because it was a line-of-sight deal and no matter how hopeless you felt you could always see your way home, even if crawling tore a hole in your bag and you lost your peanut M&M's somewhere along the way.

It was the place across the street, the store, the K, or the market (if you grew up in some backward-ass place).

Whatever you called it, it's gone. Goddammit.

The second let down of the new year.