"A chechbitch," she repeated, louder this time, drawing the attention of a homeless man sleeping in the aisle between the chip racks. "It’s a Czechoslovakian wolf-dog. A show winner. I brought him in here yesterday, and you sold me a bucket of fried chicken. Now, where is my dog?"
"Give me a pack of gum," she said, slamming a twenty on the counter. "Keep the change. Buy yourself something nice. Maybe a new neck brace." chechbitch
"You sold me a ," she hissed.