Who would have thought that living alone would be so hard? Personally, I had basked in the thought that I was overqualified for a job as a cashier at American Eagle Outfitters. Boy was I wrong...

I looked over at Nick and I noticed for the first time that he was shaking. We were weaving our way through the many vehicles that were stationed in the parking lot of the mall, where American Eagle Outfitters was located.

"Nick," I stopped abruptly and looked at him. I put my hand flat against his chest. His heart was racing!

He frowned and stepped away "so what, I'm a little nervous alright?"

"Leave the talking to me Olas...we'll be fine!"

Now, asking Nick to leave me to do the talking, and Nick actually FOLLOWING my orders are two different things.

"Have you had any past experience with dealing with customers?" asked the interviewer. She was one of those old women that you can just SMELL rotting away--but really you know it's the mothballs. Her hair was dry and it was that God-aweful brownish red-- almost like she had a fox sitting on her head.

"Well--" I began.

"No, not really." Nick said sounding very bored.

If looks could kill... "Actually I HAVE had a job as a cashier before..."

"Mmmm hmmmm," she scribbled on the job applications that we had just filled out.

"Now, there may be a little mild cleaning involved..."

"Man, I hate cleaning!" Nick said with disgust.

"Yes, Nick...your room is a constant reminder!" I muttered.

The woman looked up with interest "do you two LIVE together?"

"Well--the thing is--" I began.

"Yeah...we live together with our friend Brian. You know...we got that," he gesticulated with his hands "alternative lifestyle goin' on."

Horrified, I glared over at Nick. I couldn't bring myself to meet the woman's face.

"Well, I think we have talked enough. It's been a pleasure. She shook our hands. We'll call YOU," she said snootily.

"You hear that? I snapped?" after we left the shop. I made circular motions with my hands.

"What's that?" Nick asked crisply. He cracked nis knuckles. If I didn't know any better I would have thought that he felt as if he had accomplished something.

I inhaled though my nose "that's our job opportunities going down the toilet!" I blinked back tears.

The sweet smell of cigars wafted under my nose.

"Minor detour!" Nick grabbed my arm and guided me into the comic book store.

Who made the rule that cigars and comics should be sold in the same store together?

There was a big sign on the door that read: HELP WANTED.

Well, of course Nick being our local comic addict got the job on the spot. He began listing characters, plots, and comic book titles to the owner. He had to say no more.

"When can you start?" asked the short Italian man with scars all over his face.

It took every ounce of will power I posessed to refrain from cuffing Nick aside his bleach blonde locks.