"Shit... shit... shit... I must have used the brewer!" swore Steven, turning around and looking for his rucksack. It wasn't there. Shit, of course! Reality had altered, and in its place, was a small clutch bag.
He opened it up, looking for an ID frantically, long nails getting in the way. He found a driver's license, and clasped a hand to his mouth in horror. Rhonda Jameson, 42 years old. Shit. Shit. Shit.
And not only that, everything else would have changed too! Hell, Rhonda wasn't gonna be a night guard. He had to get out of here before the owner did. He, or she even, grabbed her clutch, and headed for the door out into the mall, heels clicking loudly on the tile, echoing through the place. Shit!
Within about thirty seconds, the mall-wide guard appeared. Lou wasn't responsible for individual stores, but as the 23 year old nephew of the owner of the mall, he did some guard work while he looked for a job after college. "Hey, you!"
Rhonda turned, eyes wide. Fuck, she was gonna get arrested.
Lou got closer, but as he did, the anger faded, and he began to lasciviously look her up and down. Rhonda felt a little uncomfortable by the heat of his stare. "So... why you here?" he said to her tits.
"Uh... uh..." She couldn't think of an excuse.
"C'mon, lady, if you don't give me a reason not to call the cops, I'll have to phone the police... you don't want me to do that... do you?" Holy shit, Rhonda thought. How the fuck was Lou acting like this? He seemed like such a nice guy!