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Weekly Contest #377
For a few seconds, the whole world went quiet. My assistant manager stopped mid-sentence and locked eyes with me. Then a young man staggered through the door and collapsed. I was 21 and working the 11 p.m.-to-7 a.m. shift at a Stop and Go convenience store and gas station—a job I knew would end up on my list of throwaway jobs. We called the place Stop and Robb. I had been there about six months, long enough to know its rhythms: the last-minute drinkers before we locked the coolers at 2 a.m., the shoplifters, and the arguments that spilled in...
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