I want to be a jerk

My comic book store is moving. Even though I got the death of Captain America issues and Buffy the Vampire Slayer 1 and 2, I am crushed.

Phoenix Comics was like my Cheers: They always knew my name and were always glad I came. Of course, they were glad because I was spending money, but they did seem to like me. One guy there even called me "jerk" once.

It was a warm spring day, and I was leaving and he told me to enjoy the weather. I said I was sorry he was stuck inside but that I'd definitely enjoy the weather. He said, "Sure, rub it in, jerk."

Not many people call me a jerk, either seriously or jokingly, so I was pretty tickled.

But now they are moving miles and miles away.

They were one of the few stores I could go to by myself. It took 40 minutes in the power chair, but it's a pretty nice walk, except for that turkey who has big gravel pieces in his driveway that spill out onto the sidewalk, threatening my balance. And the many uneven parts of the sidewalk and the sidewalk that tends without a curb cut. Wait a minute, that walk stunk.

But it got me out. There aren't many stores near me, let alone ones I want to become know at. Going to Kohl's just wouldn't be that cool.

Now I have to find a new store, but there are none that close.

Plus, who else is going to call me a jerk, except my siblings?