He told me I’d have to pay for the order.
And sign a write-up.
I refused.
“I’m not pretending this is normal,” I said.
He stared at me like I’d chosen drama over logic.
“Then you’re done,” he said.
I handed him my uniform shirt.
I walked out unemployed.
No applause.
No heroic music.
Just the smell of dumpsters in the alley and the sudden weight of rent due in ten days.
I Went Back
I didn’t mean to.
But I drove to her street again.
Knocked.
No answer.
My stomach dropped.
I pushed the door open.
She was still in the recliner.
Gray. Pale. Smaller somehow.
“I turned the heat back down,” she whispered. “The bill scares me.”
She’d eaten half a banana.
Half.
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