George Moore's store was a two story buildin' that had been there so long it had started to lean. And when I say "so long" I mean more than two hun'erd years. An addition was added to the south side to prop it up, keep it from topplin' over into the four lane. Julian ran a manual cash register on a counter that separated the wares from the customers. It had buttons as big as quarters and the price of each item would appear on white tiles when he mashed 'em. You could ask for bakin' soda or bleach or powder detergent and he'd oblige by retrievin' it from the shelves. When you were ready he'd crank a huge handle on the side and a bell would ring. The tiles would disappear and reappear with the total. I thought it was neat because it didn't need electricity, and after a storm when the lights were out, he was the only one that could still ring up customers.
The store had a smell like only stores with wood floors have. I cain't explain it, but convenience stores with concrete and linoleum just don't smell the same. When you were inside, other than the folks attire, you'd never know it was 1983… more like 1783, like somethin' off of Little House on the Prairie. Farm tools and gard'nin' equipment was hangin' from the walls and propped up in round aluminum bins. There was a potbelly stove in the back and even in the summer when it wasn't lit, the old farmers would gather 'round it, shuck peanuts, and talk about the weather, what beef was sellin' for, and who was drivin' the tobacco market. But somethin' that stands out most was some sixteen ounce soda bottles that somebody had heated in the middle until the glass was soft enough to stretch. They were skinny as a cigar in the middle and three foot long. I always thought of how much they'd been worth if somebody hadn't've stretched 'em (soda bottles had a ten cent deposit back then).
Finely wood crafted cases with glass windows the size of windshields behind the nail carousel showed off bins of penny candy. The state tax was four cents on the dollar. I could go in there with a buck and come out with 96 pieces of candy. Strawberry Chews, Bazooka bubble gum, and Tootsie Rolls made my pockets fat. Me and Duane Lawrence would buy a hun'erd pieces each of Tootsie Rolls and stuff as many as we could in our mouths so we could have a wad and spit like tobacco in the road. The stain in the road would last longer than it would in the dirt parking lot givin' us longer to admire at it.
Julian never sold beer, wine, or cigarettes but the gas station next door did and as long as we said they were for Duane's mama we could buy a pack of Merits for eighty six cents. There was a rickety wooden nine ton bridge we'd sit under. It sounded like thunder when cars rumbled over us. We'd smoke, cuss, tell filthy jokes, and look for unbroken glass bottles to bust on the railroad tracks. We'd look for tadpole eggs in the runoff ditches and blow smoke out of our nostrils, tilt our heads back, point them t'wards the sky, and try to make smoke rings. It was a big deal to inhale, and if it made you puke that was ok… just keep trying.
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