The store was already playing Christmas music in the first week of November, and he was in a good mood, and he had the console under one arm and a second controller the boy had not asked for under the other. He had run the numbers in the parking lot the way he always ran them, which was quickly, and generously, and in his own favor.

The terminal said LIMIT REACHED in a font designed to be legible from a distance. He tried the other card, then the debit, then said something about the chip being scratched. The cashier was maybe seventeen and kind about it, which was worse. In the truck his son said he had not really wanted it anyway, and had clearly rehearsed the line.