BODEGA

nyc flash fiction

Maps said she was five minutes away, walking.

She was headed toward the corner, between two blocks, across from a laundromat. A few men were hanging out at the front when she arrived, parting ways to let her in without looking. The door chimed behind her as she entered the empty pawn shop.

There appeared to be nobody inside. All the valuables were caged away in bulletproof cases, pushed to the perimeter of the room so that a line might form in the middle. But there was no line: just her, a backpack, and the counter ahead.

“Hello?” She asked to an empty counter, shielded by glass.

“One second,” shouted a voice from some back room. As she waited, she made note of the merchandise around her. Camera equipment, desktop monitors, gold chains.

“What do you have?” asked a small man with combed hair in a button down. “Is it in there?” he pointed to her bag.

She nodded, reaching for her best bet. “I’ve got a Canon G7X,” she offered, “which works fine, but the lens won’t retract.”

The camera was a college graduation present. She’d planned on vlogging her move to NYC and uploading it somewhere. She shot so much content and edited it and bought an external hard drive where the files sat, untouched.

He shook his head. “We don’t fix things. What else?”

She put the camera back and pulled out a laptop. “A Chromebook? Barely used.”

The Chromebook was technically D’s, and it was one of three work devices he’d been given. He’d left it at their apartment and she’d adopted it as her own until a better hand-me-down came through from Nora.

He made the same exact face, shook his head. “We don’t buy Chromebooks. Anything else?”

It seemed like going from best to worst wasn’t working out for her. “I’ve got an iPhone—” he winced. She knew the look. “You don’t take these either.”

He shook his head. “We don’t.”

She put it back, defeated. “Thanks anyway,” she told him, turning to leave.

“You know,” he said, “some guys around the corner buy old phones.”

“Oh really? Where at?”

“Two blocks south, on the corner. Just ask around.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, not ready to leave this part of town cashless.

A teenager sat behind the candy counter. The place was newly updated and cleaned, but it lacked your run-of-the-mill store lighting; it felt candlelit.

“Hey,” she asked him, a bit out of breath. “Do you buy iPhones?”

He looked at her quizzically, so she started plotting her route home. Walk back up to Union Square and she could avoid a long train transfer.

“What do you got?” he asked, opening his palm and wiggling two fingers.

“I’ll get these,” growled a husky voice from behind the ATM. He threw down some Combos and a forty. “Hey sweetheart,” he smiled. “Need any snacks?”

“No,” she answered absent-mindedly. “I’m selling, not buying.”

He laughed, pleased to have gotten a response from her. If he’d called out to her on the street, with his shaven head and tattoos, she would have ignored him, but something about the bodega felt safe to her. She was there on business. The boy behind the counter laughed and rolled his eyes, ringing up the man’s snacks.

“What are you lookin’ to sell?” He asked. “You know I’d buy those shorts right off of you.”

She smirked. “Just a phone, to him.” She pointed at the boy, turning to hand it to him. “It’s years old but it works.”

“Got any pictures on that phone?” The man asked. “I’ll give you more for the pictures than he’ll give for the phone.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of fifties. “What kind of pictures you got on that phone?”

“No pictures,” she smiled. “It’s wiped.”

“And it doesn’t turn on,” the boy said. “I need to charge it.” He plugged the phone into the wall and the screen lit up, informing them of the exhausted battery.

“What’s your name?” The man asked.

“Anne,” she lied.

“Annie, Annie, Annie...” he tossed the name around his mouth. “I want your phone, Annie,” he told her. He flashed some fifties. “You know I’m good for it.”

“I’m alright,” she assured, turning back to the boy. “$110 for the phone?”

The man laughed. “$110? You’re shitting me. $50 at most.”

“Well what if I throw in a laptop?” She pulled the Chromebook out. “$125 for both?”

“That got pictures?” The man asked. She shook her head no.

“Well plug it in, let’s see if it works.”

The boy was watching the two of them go back and forth, unbothered if not amused. Why was she negotiating the cost of cheap appliances with a stranger, he must be thinking?

“Annie, why do you need to get rid of this stuff so bad?” the man asked. “Where you running off too?”

“I’m moving,” she wove. “Boyfriend and I are going out west and we have too much stuff.”

“Boyfriend,” he shook his head, smacking his lips. “That’s a shame. Why’d he leave you to do all this, to sell all your stuff? You know, I’d pay you more for dinner than you want for that phone. Just for dinner.”

“Got another outlet?” She asked the boy, ready to charge the Chromebook.

“Hey now,” the man interjected, annoyed at being ignored. “What are you really looking for?” He eyed her up and down. “I’ve got crystal. I’ve got coke.”

She opened her Chromebook and the home screen showed her full name and photo. Fuck. She’d forgotten to wipe it. She shut it and put it under her arm.

“You know,” she told the guys. “I think I should at least keep this one. For work.”

The boy had resigned to playing a game on his phone, uninvolved. The man nodded enthusiastically. “Keep that,” he advised. “For work. I’m proud of you, Annie.”

“So how much for the phone?” she asked the boy.

“$60,” said the man. “And $75 if you take those shorts off of you and let me have them.”

“Not happening,” she nodded. “$80 for the phone.”

The man cackled. “$80 for a phone that ain’t even got any pictures on it? Annie, look at me.” He stepped back and opened his arms. “I look like I need a phone? This isn’t for me. I fix these phones up and give ‘em to guys on the streets so they have phones. I’m doin’ this for you and for them.”

She smiled. “$80 or I’m walking.”

“Annie, Annie, Annie...” he shook his head. “I’d give you whatever you’d wanted, you know that? Just come to dinner with me. I know your boyfriend doesn’t get what he’s got with you, a girl like you. How old are you, honey? You don’t look a day over sixteen. Be with me.”

“I’m thirty-three,” she lied, “and basically married.”

“Even better!” he yelped. “Lookin’ like that at your age, can you believe she looks like this at her age?” He turned to the boy, who was finally engaged but outwardly skeptical. “Thirty-three,” he sang, “I need you to have my babies, Annie, before it’s too late for us.”

“$80 for the phone,” she reminded, unplugging it. “I’ve gotta go meet up with someone.”

“Who, your piece-of-shit boyfriend?” he asked. “I’d never let you walk alone, not down here.”

She turned to leave. “$60!” He shouted after her.
She frowned. “$80. I’ve come down from $110. I’ve gotta go,” she turned.

He shouted after her, his hand full of money. “$75,” he said, “fine.”

She snatched the money from him and replaced it with the phone. She felt his warm, dry hand graze hers, and it felt like her father’s, uncharged, well-intentioned and honest. He let go before she could.

She left the bodega and didn’t run until she’d rounded the corner, but by the time she got to Union Square, she was breathless and smiling.