Overnight stock alone in the warehouse, a deactivated badge checks in from the freezer aisle at the same minute twice, and no one else is back there.
The anonymous review form already had eleven months of drafts sitting in it before I typed a single new word tonight, and it closes at midnight.
I left before last call sure I'd dodged it. Then I heard the cab split three ways through the door that hadn't shut yet.
I let myself into my parents' kitchen after they're asleep, eat what she leaves out, and wash it before I go. Tonight there's a spoon already set out.
Her recommendation doc still says no rush. Three weeks later I still haven't written the honest paragraph.
A letter I've rewritten forty times, folded in my glovebox, taken out only at the gas pump. Tonight the handwriting didn't look like mine.
My brother's telling his girlfriend it's just been him at the hospital this week. I've signed the visitor log every night too and say nothing.
Fourth weekend packing my mom's kitchen after her move, and I caught myself hoping the house sells faster. I didn't say why.
he takes exactly six minutes to answer every night. tonight i finally timed it on purpose.
I renewed my passport and put it in the drawer with the other two. Three faces, ten years apart, and a blank where the years should be.
the all-night laundromat had every machine running and nobody inside, and one dryer held a hoodie i lost two winters ago.
The motion sensor in my hallway should only trigger when something moves. After 2am, it won't stop.