“You’re naked,” the clerk mumbled.
“No. I’m most clearly not naked,” Sam said, tugging gently at his black boxers. “Now give me your clothes, boss.”
“Or else what?”
Sam frowned and made a circular gesture with both hands, as if he was unwinding some invisible yarn from an imaginary loom. “Your clothes.”
“No, man, this…”
A hand grabbed the bottom of the clerk’s green shirt and yanked it up over his head. He stumbled back, knocking cigarettes and lighters all over the gray linoleum floor. Sam slipped the long sleeve shirt on bent over and began tugging at the clerks boring brown dress shoes.
“I’ll call the cops, man. I will…”
The shoes were off, and then the socks.
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