Now the door opens with a cattail of jingles, the vintage cash register rings up its penny change, and inside, the coughs and sneezes, the addicts slumped in their niches trying to hoodwink the pharmacist by tapping their counterfeit canes,and from the aisles, the fishy smell of vitamins and ointments, where heavy feet pace the cracked wooden floor, wearing a path down to dust, looking for something.
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