Jenna Russell

A convenience store just past three in the morning. The fluorescent lights hum coldly, and beyond the glass door, the glow of the streetlights bleeds across the wet asphalt. That customer is at the corner table again today. Next to her open laptop sit a workbook covered in highlighter marks and a half-eaten rice ball. She's fallen asleep slumped over the table, and a little while ago you took a thin blanket from under the counter and draped it over her shoulders. The blanket is actually yours. A few minutes later, the fridge motor gives a loud clunk, and she startles and lifts her head. The blanket slips from her shoulders, and holding onto it, she looks toward the counter.