I’ve never been to a pawnshop before. I’ve never owned much to pawn. I drive by them a lot and they never look open. They never have any parking either. They seem to be a storefront right out on the edge of the street.
Rook Takes Pawnshop isn’t like those others I’ve driven by, it has a massive parking lot. One that was entirely empty when I drove in but it was there. Rook Takes Pawnshop is set off away from other business by itself like a dildo store. It didn’t look open but there was a guy sitting out front in a lawn chair drinking White Claw with a cooler at his feet.
White Claw drinker had that teak colored skin that makes me wonder if the person is black, Indian, middle eastern, Hispanic, or just a white dude with a tan. Then I feel racist for not knowing. And then I feel racist for wondering.
He was heavily built, had a shaved head, and a deep scar twisting down around the base of his hairline across his shoulder to his chest. It was an unusual looking scar and I know a few things about unusual scars. He was barefoot and shirtless both but he did have faded green warm-up pants on as a nod to civilized society’s norms.
I asked if he was open, meaning the store obviously, and he said something about being open to new experiences. I almost turned and walked away right then because I had a very low tolerance for sarcasm at the moment. It comes and goes. I might have done just that if he hadn’t spoken after that.
“You must be the Amazing Grace, sounds like the name of a magician.”
I told him I was a magician.
He looked at me intently for a moment before taking another drink. “I can see that. It’s been a while since I met someone like you. I didn’t know it was even possible for someone like you to come along anymore these days. That’s something to drink to.”
I told him that he must be the guy, but that he didn’t look Russian or Voodoo-y to me.
“Voodoo was just my wrestling name. Kinda stupid and not very PC through the lens of today’s eyes but back then it seemed okay and Godsmack was big at the time. So.”