I stop by the convenience store near my house a few times a week. It is the only store for a few miles in either direction, on a rural stretch of highway. There’s a stop light, the divided highway, a single train track, the convenience store, and then 55+ trailer parks, tomato fields, and cow pastures leading out to the bay. If you drive south on the highway, you hit the county line.
In other words, it is a perfect target for crime. Easy-in, easy-out, with little traffic and a good view of the people coming and going. The women who work as cashiers there are world-weary. They are bitter and fatalistic about the fact that they keep getting robbed. When I spoke with one of them a few weeks ago, she seemed a little embarrassed that she was even upset about the latest armed robbery. She looks like somebody who has had few breaks in life and has learned not to complain. She stands less than five feet tall and might weigh 100 pounds soaking wet, as they say. Like most of the store’s employees, including the security guard they have hired, she is a senior citizen. Once you get to be in your sixties, it’s hard enough to find work. ...
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