Sam Played, Part 1

Sam squinted at the cupcake and hummed his suspicions. Pink, sure. Sprinkled, fine. But the slabs of chocolate like granite walls in a brutalist library, no. Artisanal chefs went to these kind of lengths but this was a damn truck stop.

“You,” Sam said.

The clerk kept mumbling into his phone.

Sam walked up to the counter. “Hey, Boss. You know it’s rude to talk on the phone when you got a customer talking to you?”

Now he got a stare. The clerk did not put the phone down.

Sam leaned forward and plucked the cell from the man’s hand. He pressed the red icon on the screen, terminating the call. When Heset the phone down on the dirty yellow counter, he frowned at the device, then moved it about an inch to the left.

“Where do you people get your cupcakes from here?”