Entropy

So scrimping on scratch-offs and candy bars and shit, I saved ten rolls of pennies, intending as I did to go on a crusade. To my Dollar Value, local store. I mean the one on Schermerhorn, by the corner with Clinton, between the Mickey D’s and our Inked Up, the tattoo parlor.

Because if you go on Monday morning, Mr. Patel, who’s like the window dresser-cum-cashier and franchisee extraordinaire, puts out the just-in items, very nice man and accommodating always, wife Savita and three kids in school. And because he has to shift a lot of other stuff around—the moldy oldies like your rubber gloves and party napkins—it gives the shelves a new perspective. So this place, the stock of which you thought you knew so well, can have a whole new look and feel. Like it’s suddenly broadcasting on another network.