Luke liked to shop at odd, and often late, hours. He avoided the rush of people with traditional jobs and a desperate need for Corn Pops and crap. It was pleasant with just the hum of the freezers and fridges. A couple of checkouts chirped in the background. He tossed a few more bags of frozen veggies into his cart, then checked his phone. With fewer smoothies and shakes and more solid food in the last two weeks, he had to carefully check his meal plan. Nobody wanted last-minute supermarket runs. Eggs. He needed another couple cartons. Before he got to the fridge, he passed a guy for the third or fourth time since he’d started his shop. That was unusual enough to get his attention. Nobody had fucked with him in a long time—since he started training, really—but there was always a first time. And open carry was legal in Nebraska, but worse yet, so was concealed carry. Luke didn’t expect anyone to be that crazy about him, but he never knew.
