Outside

I wanted to get out of the house for a bit, and went for a walk over to the beer store. Half way there I decided to keep on walking down the road to the gov liquor store, the booze was cheaper and I needed the exercise.
Along the way I noticed a handful of police on the corner across the street, they were standing close together and partially hidden from view by a large bush. A traffic stop. I wondered how many speeders they could get from a busy 50kph stretch of road with lots of red lights.
A man sits in front of the liquor store, an empty cup held out before him. He's placed himself just outside of the invisible aura that radiates from the large "No Loitering" sign.
Inside the store I found what I was looking for and lined up for the cash register. There were about four people in front of me, and only one cashier on duty. She looked tired. I settled in for the wait and let my eyes drift around. A man wearing a grey hoodie over a slight build was walking toward the doors, not too quickly but with purpose. He glanced over his shoulder at the lineup, the slight turn of his body revealing a bulge where his left hand rested in the front pocket of the hoodie. Then he was out the door and turning down the sidewalk, another glance in through the windows and gone.
A shrill voice erupts from behind my elbow and a short arm points past me and over the counter.
"Excuse me." The voice is for the cashier but the stubby appendage is directed to the front window. "That man just walked out of here with a forty-pounder of vodka."
The cashier sighs and the arm retracts. The woman paying for her purchases says something to the cashier and she explains that "...unfortunately we can't chase after them. In case they have a weapon. It's been happening more often since the recession." And I place my forty-pounder of vodka on the counter.
Two more employees appear to announce that they can help the next people in line, and the two people behind me split up to either side.
I approach the till and make small talk. "I was thinking that guy seemed a little nervous."
The tired cashier looks out the window. "Yeah, but it's not like I could have seen him when I've got a huge lineup to deal with."
The two temporary helpers have already seen to their customers and disappeared.
Outside the store again, a middle-aged man is loading groceries into the trunk of his European two-seater. A too-skinny woman approaches him and begins explaining that she's not a drug addict. He closes the trunk and listens patiently to her rehearsed diatribe.
Barely half a block away I encounter the police traffic stop again, I'm on the same side of the street this time and about to pass directly through their midst. I notice the way the four young officers are smiling and chatting amongst themselves, without a single eye directed at traffic. Any thoughts I had of mentioning the liquor store are washed away in a stream of indifference.