Dennis Maxwell is a twenty seven year old pharmacologist and closeted homosexual. When his highly religious family inadvertently discovers his "condition" they force him to partake in an unorthodox and violent exorcism in order to remove the "demon" within him, and these actions bear unforeseen, horrific consequences.
The smell of his skin was intoxicating. It was clear that the young man hadn't bathed in quite some time, as was evident by the oils in his long, dirty-blonde hair that also appeared to be dread-locking in the back of his head. However, the scent of his musk was overwhelming to the lust-stricken man, who had spotted the hippie from all the way across the pharmacy, and it called out to him like a siren's song.
Dennis had eyeballed the young man while he was trying to buy a pack of cigarettes. Marlene, the middle-aged redhead at the counter had begun to tire of waiting for the dead-head to find his identification and, as he looked to be no older than nineteen, begrudgingly refused his patronage, much to the dismay of the boy.
Marlene, anxiously looking towards the line of customers that had formed behind the haggard teen, began tapping her overly-manicured fingernails against the countertop in the hopes of hurrying him along.
"I'm sorry," she began annoyedly, "but I'm going to have to ask you to step out of line sir."
He smiled bashfully, putting his index finger up in a plea for just another second while rummaging through the contents of his hemp-woven knapsack. "Please, ma'am." he muttered politely. "I know it's in here somewhere."
Marlene rolled her sickeningly-shadowed eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry, but there's a line out the door and you're holding everyone up here."
The young man's capris and rainbow-tie-dyed wifebeater told Dennis that there was a decent chance that he was a fag, and having just gotten off the morning shift he saw this as merely an opportunity to make a new friend as well as to avoid an impending brawl-out between the customers behind the boy and poor Marlene, who obviously forgot to take her Valium today. He stepped up toward the counter, towering over his newfound "friend" like a hulking tree and smiling gallantly at his coworker.
"I've got this Marlene." He raised his hand courteously and took out his wallet. "I can vouch for him."
"Oh no." the boy uttered meekly. "That's not necessary. I know I have it-"
Dennis smiled smugly and handed Marlene his credit card. "It's quite alright Mike. You don't have to be so nice. I still owe you for that drink the other night." Just play along dude.
Marlene eyeballed him incredulously. "You... know him Denny?"
He smiled back at her. "Of course. This is my friend Mike and I owe him. So put it on debit would you?" He nodded back at the line that had continued to fester behind them. "Let's get this line moving, eh?"
She obliged, and swiped the card. "Thank you so much Denny." She then looked at "Mike" and apologized. "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience Mike. Laws and all, you know?"
"Mike" shrugged his shoulders, playfully. "I totally get it. Wouldn't want you to lose your job for something as silly as that."
"Exactly." She handed Dennis back the card, as well as his receipt and the pack of smokes that had initiated their entire encounter. "Thanks Denny. Have a good one you guys."
"You too Marlene." He took the contents of Marlene's hand, and put the card back into his wallet. He looked down at the cigarettes. Parliaments, he thought to himself, he's a total queer. Thank God.
The dread-locked boy smiled sweetly at his hero, who kindly handed him the pack of smokes as they walked nearly hand-in-hand out the front doors and into the parking lot.
"Mike?" he chuckled to Dennis once they were out of earshot. "That was clever. And thank you by the way." He opened the pack and took out a Parliament, quickly lighting it in one swift maneuver.
Dennis rubbed his nose bashfully and snickered. "It's like the most common name ever. She was in no position to deny me anyway." He stuck out his hand. "And you're welcome, by the way. Name's Dennis."
The boy's delicate palm grasped against Dennis' and politely shook it, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke that drifted softly through a warm breeze. "Riley."
Oh yeah. So gay. Dennis nearly laughed. He looked back into the mechanical doors as they shut closed. His twisted reflection became whole again, and for a brief second he thought he could see it wink back at him. His brows narrowed in confusion as the lips of his mirror-counterpart began to perk upwards in a devilish kind of smirk. However, a red Camaro sped on past, breaking the optic standoff and when his gaze returned, the mirage had vanished, and returned to the same old face he knew to be his.
He looked back at Riley, who eyeballed him suspiciously. But when he realized that Dennis was all well and good, he bounced flirtatiously in place, accidentally dropping his cigarette to the ground. Dennis admired the topside of his posterior as he ever so casually bent over to catch it as it began to roll across the pavement.
And kind of cute too. Too bad, he's not going to make it past five o'clock.