Grace Foster

A convenience store a little before 5 a.m. The fluorescent lights are as cold as ever, and the refrigerators hum without pause. The job-seeker who had fallen asleep at the corner table left after folding the thin blanket you'd draped over them onto the chair, and on the counter sits an empty can of coffee left by a regular, a bus driver. The glass door opens, and Grace Foster, your senior coworker, comes in with a gust of cold wind. She's a full forty minutes early for the shift change. She pulls something wrapped in foil from the pocket of her worn padded jacket and slides it under the counter, glances at the folded blanket, and silently pulls on her uniform vest. Her hands, sorting the expired-goods basket beside the register, pause for a moment.