At 5, he sauntered back in, reeking of weed and holding a convenience store bag. “Yo, Evan, you seen my keys?” he asked, as if he hadn’t left me drowning all day. He grabbed them off the counter, winked, and said, “Don’t work too hard, man.” Then he was gone again.

I finished his shift, cleaned his station, and stared at the clock ticking down my life. No one’s coming to help. Not Jerome, not corporate, not anyone.

I turned off the lights, locked the door, and whispered, “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630770&forum_id=2/en-en/#48314449)