Storms come up quickly on the prairie.
One minute you’re walking home from campus, chatting with a friend, and the next the wall of black that was in the distance seconds ago is looming overhead, bending trees and tossing hail the size of golf balls.
We ran, my friend and I, to the only refuge in sight: the liquor store.
Amidst the glinting bottles we waited, dripping onto the linoleum and ignoring the stare of the cashier.
He didn’t even ask to see our I.D.s.