In the Heart of the City

IN THE HEART OF THE CITY
or
A TALE OF PENSIONER MILLIONAIRES

	Stan Miles stood on the sidewalk outside the doors of the novelty shop. He is a tall, fat, disheveled man. He’s dressed in a zipper jacket and straight leg jeans that are loose around his calves and tight around his waist. He sports a crew cut that is about two months overgrown. His brown hair started thinning in his early fifties but a little rogaine every day was helping to hold the line on that front. His unshaven, acne-scarred face is set in a neutral expression as he waits for the doors of the storefront to open in about ten minutes.
	“Hey, is this ‘Downtown Collectors’?” Stan startled at this intrusion into his day dream and jumped. “Ah, shit, are you okay, buddy?” the new arrival asked. Stan overcame his initial panic and started chuckling. “Yes, I’m fine. You just scared me a bit. I was zoned out for a minute.” Stan’s new companion is a similarly tall, fat, disheveled man. He’s wearing a wrinkled band t-shirt and cargo shorts. His long, gray hair is tied back in a pony tail.
	“Stan,” says the man with the pony tail, introducing himself while extending his hand. Stan Miles take his hand and shakes it. “Hello, Stan. I’m also Stan,” and he says it with a slight smile and a chuckle having recovered from his earlier shock. “HA, you’re serious? Two Stans. Now that’s funny. My teachers always told me one was enough!” The pony tailed Stan broke out with an exaggerated laugh as he said this. Stan Miles laughed along with the joke.
	“So hey, Stan Two. Is this ‘Downtown Collectors’?” asked pony tail Stan again. “Uh, yes. This is the place. Hey, wait, why am I Stan Two?” “Well, obviously you can’t be Stan One. That’s me. I’m Stan One.” “When did this get decided? Who decided this?” “That’s just how it is,” Stan One beamed a big grin while saying this, having the time of his life. “Um, maybe it should be whoever is older should be Stan One,” Stan Miles replied back. He was starting to think this new acquaintance was a very odd sort of guy, but otherwise good-natured and harmless. “I’m fifty four,” said pony tail Stan. “Aha! I’m fifty seven, so I should be Stan One then,” Stan Miles said. “Yeah, but I’m taller.” “Uh… okay?” Stan Miles wasn’t sure how to respond to this and that hesitation was enough to seal his destiny as Stan Two. “And better looking AHAHAHA” Stan One’s exaggerated laugh returned harder than before. He extended his hand and patted Stan Two’s shoulder a couple times. “I’m joking. I’m joking.” “Ah, well, obviously a statement like that would have to be a joke, just look at you!” “Oh! Good one.” Both men shared a long laugh at the exchanged barbs.
	“When’s this place open anyways? Should be any minute now, right?” Stan One walked over to the glass doors and pressed his face against the glass with his hands over his eyes, trying to peer inside to see if he could see anyone. “Uh, oh, yeah. It should be opening in about…” Stan Two pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to look at his watch. “It’s uh, 8:59 so,” “Hey! Here comes someone now!” Stan One shouted into the glass, waving one of his arms excitedly as if trying to get the attention of the clerk who was all ready walking towards the glass doors.
	Stan One stepped back from the door slightly as the sales lady used a key to unlock the doors with a clack of the deadbolt. She pushed it open into Stan One’s waiting hand. “Thank you, little miss,” Stan One pulled the door towards him and stepped inside. Right behind him followed Stan Two, “Thank you, good morning!” he cheerfully said to the woman who was walking away to the glass counter upon which the cash register resided without acknowledging either of her two customers.
	Stan Two weaved his way around various shelves lined with assorted novelty collector items. Stan Two collects pint glasses and today he is here inside of Downtown Collectors to finish a series of pint glasses that had been produced by Miller Brewing Company in the Nineties. So far, Stan Two has managed to collect four of the glasses in the series of six and only needs the last two. Pint Glass Three and Pint Glass Five are notoriously difficult to find. For almost a year, Stan Two has scoured websites, auction houses, knick-knack shops, and every other place he could think of in search of these last two glasses missing from his collection. Finally, his efforts had produced results and he found that this shop had recently received some pint glasses from that series.
	Stan Two turns a corner and stops. In front of him, Stan One is standing in front of a shelf full of pint glasses. In his hand, he is holding a glass from the very series that Stan Two has been attempting to complete.
	“Uh, hey, what did you find there?” Stan Two hesitantly ventures. Stan One turns his head and smile his big smile back at him, “Oh! It’s Stan Two! Are you stalking me? AHAHA I’m just here to pick up a couple pint glasses. There’s a series of ‘em that was put out by Miller – the beer company – many years ago, back when I was young, dumb, and full of cum, haha! And I’ve been collecting them. I only need two more to complete my collection.” Stan Two’s heart starts pounding in his ears, “Oh, that’s interesting. Which two are you looking for?” Stan One’s face muscles pulls the corners of his lips even higher and farther apart, his smile seeming impossibly wide. He gestures with the glass in hand, “Here’s number five and,” he picks up a second pint glass, “Here’s number three. Collection complete!”
	Stan Two is sweating.
	“See ya later, buddy!” Stan One starts to walk past Stan Two, merchandise in hand. “Wait,” Stan Two steps in front of Stan One, his voice lowered and serious. “I’m looking for those glasses too.” “Oh really? Great minds think alike! No wonder we get along so well.” “Those are also the last two numbers I need for my collection.” “Oh yeah? There’s a whole bunch of them over there on that shelf. I’m sure you’ll find them there.”
	Stan One watches as Stan Two walks over to the shelves of glasses and inspects them carefully. Coors, Budweiser, Olympia, Pabst, Miller series One, Two, Four, and Six. Many different pint glasses sit on those shelves from all kinds of different companies and eras.
	“They aren’t here,” Stan Two’s shoulders drop. Stan One frowns, “Really? That’s tough, buddy. I’m sure you’ll find them soon enough, though. I just started collecting these last week and this shop is near my apartment so I figured I’d drop by to see if they had what I was missing. It wasn’t hard at all.” “No,” replies Stan Two, “these are really hard to find. I’ve been looking for these glasses for years. I’ve searched countless websites and called around to dozens of stores and nobody else had these in stock.” “Wow, they’re that hard to come by, huh? I’m sorry to hear that. I guess I just got lucky then.” A long silence follows. Stan One breaks it first.
	“So, I’ve got to get going. Maybe we should meet up sometime later.”
	“I was here first.”
	“What?”
	Stan Two unconsciously straightens his back and leans forward, “I was waiting outside the store first. You skipped ahead of me in line. I was here first, those glasses should be mine.” For the first time, the cheery light in Stan One’s eyes darkens, “Whoa, buddy, hold on, we both were in line at the front of the store, but I got to the glasses first. You can’t just take them from me.” “You cut in front of me in line, you took them from me. If you hadn’t cut me in line, then I would have been the one here first. Those should be mine,” Stan Two’s agitated nerves create a slight tremble of anger and desperation in his voice. “That’s bull,” says Stan One, “I’m leaving,” and he starts to walk away again.
	Stan Two wavers a second and follows after Stan One. He watches as Stan One walks up to the cash register and places the glasses on the counter in front of the lady manning it. “Just these.”
	“Ma’am, this man took these glasses from me, these are mine,” interjects Stan Two, walking up to the counter next to Stan One. “Screw you!” shouts Stan One. Stan Two reaches out and snags both of the pint glasses. “Hey!” yells Stan One, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He shoves Stan Two, pushing him back into a stand holding dozens of keychains. “Whoa, don’t touch me! That is assault! I have fibromyalgia and you are assaulting me!” “Give me my glasses back!” Stan One shoves Stan Two again, knocking both him and the stand he was leaning against onto the ground. “AH!” Stan Two shouts in pain and rolls off the stand onto the ground. “AH! Help!” Stan One grabs Stan Two by the jacket and pulls him off the ground, “Give me my glasses!” he roars into Stan Two’s face. “No!”
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	The girl’s vape crackles as she takes a long drag off of it. When she pulls it out of her mouth, she speaks without exhaling, “Yeah, so these two came into the store. That one,” she points, “grabbed some glasses from that one and then that one started smacking that one.” The police officer looks at the two men. “Did they say anything? Did they know each other?” The girl turns her head and exhales the vapor from her lungs, “I don’t know.”