Dick was exasperated, as he pointed at large signboard with big bold red letters that read "ABSOLUTELY NO REFUNDS FOR DAMAGES DUE TO DEMONIC ATTACKS" for the sixteenth time. It was bad enough that half of the newly delivered IKEA tables were now just piles of toothpicks strewn on the floor of a store devoid of any food that stick between the gaps of your teeth, but the demons who kept bugging him about refunds made it worse.
"If you bought it and it got destroyed by a demonic entity, then we're not paying you back. And we're certainly not replacing it."
The glares trying to melt him down and submit him into a refunding state of mind did not affect Dick. His body was too busy searching for pockets of nicotine hidden within its blood stream.
"Yes, even if it didn't have any horns, it's still considered a demon."
Dick was seriously considered lighting up a piece of furniture right them, preferably one that he could roll up and inhale, if only to replace his oxygen with a more poison filled alternative.
Fortunately for him, his watched suddenly beeped, announcing that it was indeed the end of his shift. He ran out back and got his things. He saw Moloch on the way out and the curling of lips to greet his co-worker made Dick realize that he was already experiencing withdrawal symptoms.
A single cigarette. An unlit role. It was lying on the sidewalk. Dick almost stepped on it as he hurried to his car.
Luck. Fate. Pure Bliss.
He picked it up, eager to finally give his body the gift of death. Only then did he realize that he had no lighter, no match, no flame. His trusty Zippo was abandoned at the Hard Times.
He turned his head, scanning the area for someone with a light. He almost cried as he looked at the unlit stick stuck between his fingers. It was meant to be a long night.