When he reached the 24-hour pharmacy, he didn't browse. He strode down the "Family Planning" aisle with the intensity of a man planning a military coup. He didn't know which brand was the most accurate, and he wasn't about to risk a "false negative" because of a faulty strip.
He started grabbing them. The digital ones that spelled out the words. The ones with the blue crosses. The ones with the pink lines. The ultra-sensitive ones that promised results six days early. By the time he reached the counter, he had dropped ten different boxes onto the plexiglass.
The young pharmacist behind the counter blinked, looking from the mountain of plastic boxes to the tall, imposing man in the expensive suit who looked like he'd just come from a construction site or a war zone.
"Sir, you only really need one or two to..."
