The 12th and Pine state-controlled liquor store is across the street from a police station, police parking lot, and cheap housing where people supposedly buy drugs. They're not supposed to sell alcohol to people who can't walk a straight line to the register or who urinate in their pants on the way. The cashiers keep alcohol at the registers to wipe their hands after handling wet wads of cash handed to them from the pockets of the homeless. Some minors attempt to purchase alcohol with fake IDs, apparently made with the same equipment and materials used by the Department of Motor Vehicles, but sometimes they use a nicer font for the letters, or at least they used to do so. The vile drinks imbibed by panhandlers are hidden because it's more likely that they will steal a plastic flask of 100 proof Monarch Vodka than a $100 bottle of Scotch. If the doors open a minute late, or even if they don't, the "Breakfast Club" (the alcoholics who make a beeline to the gin and vodka when the store opens) tends to get irate; sometimes they rattle the doors when they want them to be unlocked. There are more cameras on the crew than the customers, perhaps because many who get liquor store jobs are alcoholics. The staff members sometimes get threats from irate customers, but actually are pretty safe at night because the hoods and winos don't want to mess with their 'dealers'.