I was standing there reading the nutritional facts on the back of the box of cookies and calculating how far I’d have to jog to work them off. How would it have ended if I’d taken the jug of milk directly to the checkout?

I heard a crash, and a man yelling. “Put the money in the bag!” He sounded agitated. I tensed; I drew my service pistol from under my jacket and flipped off the safety. I crept forward, noticing the reflection of the perp in the window. He had a high-caliber revolver pointed over the counter at the trembling clerk.

The clerk fumbled with the register. My eyes were fixed on a finger, resting on the trigger of a weapon with no safety. The hammer was pulled back. The slightest twinge and the clerk would be paste.

The clerk raised the bag of money. The crook’s gun hand went down. I stepped out.

“Police, drop your weapon!” I ordered.

He didn’t; he raised it towards me. I put four rounds into his chest.

Later, once the scene was cleared, I bought that box of cookies and ate all of it.