He walked in to my store 
One August afternoon.
He appeared to have just finished exercising, 
as his once white, now transparent t-shirt 
Clung to his cleanly shaven chest.

My eyes followed him 
From behind  the cash register 
As he made his way to the fridge 
To select the luckiest bottle of grape Gatorade 
There ever was, is and will be.

He approached to cash, 
A pleasant smile on his face 
As he asked me, 
“How much?” 
And it took the wind out of me to reply