Hit Up in The Bread Desert

“Heeey. Hey.” I turned from the queue leading to the greasy bullet-proof partition that separated the Vietnamese cashier and her products from the customers. A 30-something black woman with short, blonde-tipped dreads was close enough to my face for me to smell her booze-breath. “Hey,” I responded. “Could you buy me a dollarbeer?” “Uh…” I…