Till You Drop, A 100 Word Story

The tiny shop was almost empty, not just of customers, but also of merchandise. What little there was was strategically placed on shelves ten feet off the floor or in cages with complicated latches and locks.
There were unrecognizable items in garishly colored boxes with incomprehensible labels in foreign languages.
The hours of operation were eleven-twenty at night until five-ten in the morning.
The clerk was also the store owner. He was surly and spoke little English, not to mention his poor personal hygiene. He never made much money, but he was proud of the concept: the neighborhood inconvenience store.

I don't like the title for this one. Come up with a better title in comments, and I'll give you a writer's credit.