yes?
back there, under security camera.
can i help you?
no, stop. brad drops the beer. it crashes to the floor in slow motion. brad makes a crazy, threatening face as he pulls back a fist, but the korean guy throws a fast right hand, landing squarely on brad's chin. brad goes down like a sack of hammers; then we flashback to: moments earlier: we realize we've just been in a fantasy, as brad again approaches the counter with his beer.
can i help you?
oh sure. last week was my fifty- fourth time. but they were cool, no gun to head, never scream; you know, good people.
glad you got cash, 'cause if you try to jack me, i was gonna have to lay you out wid dis.
 and wid dis. the korean guy's wife has an ak-47 on brad, the red dot of its laser sight trained steadily in the middle of his forehead.
 and wid dat. the korean guy's six-year-old boy has a sawed-off shotgun pointed at brad's knees. the gun is bigger than the boy. the koreans laugh at brad. brad drops the hundred on the counter.
thank you very much. come again. as brad looks out to make sure pj and sean haven't seen anything, the korean guy sticks the receipt in between two of the 40s. unaware, brad gathers his stuff and heads to the door.