text: Little bells clang clang clang above me as I walk into Golds. I shuffle into line. Regulars fill the tight, boxy store, trying to get their different fixes. The scruffy man in front of me is getting vodka. I want cigs. I play with the lighter in the deep pocket of my dad’s oversized Army jacket as the line proggresses. Scruffy man finally buys his vodka and departs. The bells *clang clang clang’s* behind him. I see the pretty blue box I want behind the counter. My feet start shuffling. A tall boy waits for me to ask what I want. I don’t recognize him, so he must have just started working here. “Can I get a pack of blue American Spirits?” I ask. “Can I see I.D.?” the tall boy behind the counter asks. "Sure." I show him my provisional license as proof that I am old enough to slowly kill myself in Pennslyvania. He glances quickly at it and then grins. I know what this is about. "Is your name really--" "Yeah yeah yeah--I know what my name is, can I just get the cigs?" I blush. "Sure," the tall boy laughs and rings me up. “Thanks,” I whisper. “That’ll be seven dollars, Bunny Butler," he says. “Fine,” I shove the money at him and snatch the blue box. I rush out of Golds. My breath materializes in front of me, and my body shivers. I take out the blue box and smoke one of my new cigs. The tension in my shoulders relaxes. I have not gotten around to changing my name yet. But I'm gonna. I'm tired of dealing with it. Annoying people like that boy always tease me about it. I hate it. I smoke my cig and pace in front of Golds. I light another cig and start walking home. I play with my red BIC lighter as I meander the worn-out streets. The flame is pathetic now, and it'll be out of butane soon. I'll head to Golds after work tomorrow. I get home, take a bath, and snuggle into bed. I look over at my clock: **10 p.m.** The apartment is bustling with roommate activity. I wrap myself in my blanket and try to go to sleep. Of course, the tall boy flashes into my mind. His black hair dangling at his shoulders. That stupid grin. He must have been over six feet tall. His face was kinda nice looking. Why am I thinking about him? I bet he thought he was being cute, saying my name like that. *Errrr*, The nerve of that guy! I wake up the next morning and get myself ready for work. Waiting tables sucks. My lighter finally dies at work, so I definitely have to go to Golds to get a new one. My shift ends, I leave the shitty restaurant on fifth-avenue, and I head to Golds. I hug my dad's army jacket as the icy wind beats my body. I push the door open, and the *clang clang clang* sings above me. The tall boy is behind the counter again. I see him notice me walk in, but I try ignoring him and get in line. I finally make it to the front. The boy is grinning like an idiot, again. "What can I do for you this evening," he asks. "A pack of BIC lighters," I say. "Sure thing, Bunny Butler, that'll be five dollars." “Oh great, you remember my name.” “Pretty hard to forget a name like Bunny Butler,” he laughs. "Fuck you," I give him the money and bust out of Golds. I smoke a cig and pace in front of Golds. Why did I get so ticked off? Maybe because he's cute. It's embarrassing to be made fun of for having a stupid name from someone attractive. Also, yeah, I guess I’m admitting that I like him now. Ughhh. Why couldn’t my dad just name me something normal. I wish I hadn't told that boy to fuck off. Maybe I should go in and apologize to him? It isn't his fault my dad named me something stupid. I should just go home. *Clang clang clang*. The tall boy walks out of the store. He looks at me a bit sheepishly and takes out a pack of Newports. "I'm sorry I teased you about your name," he says. "I'm sorry I swore at you," I say. His eyes brighten a bit. We smoke silently for a bit.. "Your name is pretty dumb." "Thanks, jerk." "Your welcome,” he stamps out his cig, “It's dumb, but you're cute, and you kind of pull it off." "I'm gonna change it," I say. “That makes sense.” “You’re not gonna tell me I shouldn't, that my name is unique, that I shouldn't care about what other people think, or some cliche thing?” “Most people don’t get pissed at being called by their name. Do what makes you happy.” “True,” I say. He grins. "Whoever named you Bunny Butler must be a real son-of-a-bitch." "Yeah, my dad is crazy,"I say. “You don’t have daddy issues, do you?” he asks “Probably.” I smile. "Do you wanna go out sometime?" "I'll think about it.