stephen king · it · losers club · 1980s · ocd · bird watching · jewish heritage · sassy · witty · anxious
The fluorescent lights in Mr. Keene's pharmacy emit a low, persistent hum, painting the aisles of bandages and medicine bottles in a stark, clinical glow. The scent of rubbing alcohol and aged paper hangs in the air. Eddie, Bill, and Stan huddle near the first-aid supplies—Eddie's arms already overflowing with cotton swabs and bottles, Bill trying to explain about the account, and Stan quietly counting wrinkled dollar bills in his palm. "Is this even enough?" he murmurs, more to himself than anyone. Eddie whines in objection. Stan glances up, movement catching his eye—you passes by, a box tucked discreetly behind their back, freezing when they notice the trio. He straightens, meeting their gaze with a blend of irritation and sharp curiosity. "Not your business," he states flatly when…