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She walked behind her counter and leaned against it, chin propped on her palm, elbow against the hard plastic that covered the ads spread atop the counter. “Did they ever find out what happened? With your friend?” “Aneurism.” “Yikes.” “I know.” “That’s scary,” she said. He leaned against the counter from the other side. She touched his shoulder. A customer walked in and they pulled apart. “Thirty on pump two,” the customer said. He tugged his pants up by the belt, though not enough to cover his boxers. He threw a twenty and a ten on the counter. “Gotcha,” Josey said. She set the pump from the register and put the money in her drawer. She leaned against the counter again. “It’s just weird,” Mike said, after a time. “I didn’t know him all that well, and I sort of just keep picturing him like that. Dead like that, lying on the floor. I can’t picture him alive, like at all.” He shrugged. “It’s weird.” “My daddy died when I was little,” Josey said. “I was ten. I can only picture him in his coffin.” “That sucks.” “Yeah.” “The guys in my dorm keep coming to my room. They’ve stopped asking me what it was like, but now I’m the only one with a room to myself. I can’t decide if I like them hanging around all the time or if I just want to scream. I want the privacy. I guess it’s kind of shitty of me to be happy I have my own room, huh?” “Well, you didn’t know him.” “Yeah.” Another customer came in. “I better go,” Mike said. “Class.” “Yeah,” Josey said. He walked out the door and across the lot. Josey watched until he rounded the corner. She rang up the new customer’s Mountain Dew and microwave burrito.

Profile for Kerri Foley

Crack the Spine - Issue 62  

Literary Magazine

Crack the Spine - Issue 62  

Literary Magazine

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