Laced up Nikes
The teen tightened the laces on the shiny new air max Nikes, ignoring Mike's sales patter about cushioned soles and handing him her dirty trainers. Her accomplice (boyfriend? husband?) took a slow circuit around racks of adidas and puma. His studied smile dropped when he clocked the security badge on my shirt.
I'd been here three months, long enough to see a half dozen runners. Alarms blaring. Managers swearing.
On cue she bolted, her man pushing over a display to slow me. Just more mess to clean. Minimum wage doesn't buy flying tackles. It buys a monthly shrink report.