The buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead had a way of worming into your brain. Not loud enough to be a real noise, not quiet enough to be ignored, just a constant, nagging hum, like a mosquito trapped inside your skull.
June stood behind the counter of the Twenty4 convenience store with her chin in her palm and her elbow on the plastic countertop, staring through the glass doors at the empty parking lot. The sky outside was an indifferent slate gray, the kind that never really became morning or night. Just... gray. Permanent twilight. She wasn't sure if that was the weather or just how her eyes saw things now.
The store smelled faintly of cleaning fluid, burnt hotdog oil, and synthetic citrus. That smell never changed. Like the store was trying to pretend it was clean without ever being clean. The floor tiles were cracked. One of the fridges hummed louder than the others, threatening to break down like it did every third week. The coffee machine sputtered in the corner, brewing a pot no one was going to drink.
Another Tuesday night. Or was it Wednesday? Didn't matter. They were all the same. Just loops in a life that didn't have an exit.
The door chimed as a customer wandered in, the sound cheerful in a way that felt insulting. He didn't look at her. Just walked past, straight to the drinks fridge, muttering to himself. That was fine. She didn't want to talk anyway.
June straightened a stack of scratch card displays and watched him on the security monitor. A white guy in his late thirties. Greasy hair. Cargo shorts in winter. She could already smell the cigarettes clinging to his jacket from here.
He stood in front of the energy drinks for five minutes. Didn't buy anything. Left without a word.
The door chimed again.
A woman came in next, too much perfume, high heels at 2 a.m., talking loudly into a Bluetooth headset. She paced the candy aisle while arguing with someone about a bank transfer, then knocked a bag of chips off the shelf and didn't pick it up.
June waited until she left before walking over and putting it back.
Back at the counter, she checked the time.
2:47 a.m.
Twelve more minutes until she had to restock the cigarettes.
She stared at her reflection in the security monitor. Not a flattering angle, washed-out skin under bad lighting, bags under her eyes, her black hair scraped into a bun that had given up halfway through the night. Her uniform shirt was a size too big and smelled faintly of the fried chicken they sold in the heated display.
She looked tired. But then again, she always did.
A buzzing voice crackled through the walkie behind her.
"June, you mind not standing around? I saw you on the monitor."
That was Mr. Dreyfuss. Her manager. Sixty, balding, and with the passive-aggressive energy of a guy who never got promoted past retail and blamed everyone younger than him.
June pressed the button on the radio.
"Got it."
She didn't change position. Just turned slightly so that the camera wouldn't catch her leaning.
Another customer came in, this one reeked of cheap alcohol and stared at the counter for too long before trying to buy a single pack of gum with coins sticky from soda or worse. He left when she said the register wouldn't accept five-cent coins anymore.
The door chimed closed behind him.
Quiet again.
She picked up a half-finished bottle of water and stared at the label without reading it. Every so often, her gaze flicked to the snack shelves. Half the bags were puffy from air. None of them ever tasted like real food. She once read that convenience store food was engineered to trigger dopamine without satisfying hunger. She believed it.
Someone outside laughed.
June looked up. Through the glass, across the parking lot, a group of students, maybe college-age, maybe just out of high school, were hanging around a beat-up car with neon lights under the chassis. They were smoking something. Probably illegal. One of them threw their arms around another's shoulders and laughed so loud it echoed across the lot.
It wasn't even a good joke, whatever it was. Just inside-joke nonsense and dopamine. But it filled the air.
They were alive.
June turned her gaze back to the counter.
She didn't hate them. Not really. That would require feeling something. She just felt... removed. Like watching a movie where you'd missed the first hour, and now the characters were crying or falling in love and you couldn't bring yourself to care because none of it made sense to you.
Another hour passed. A few more customers drifted in and out. One bought scratch cards. One stared at the beer fridge for fifteen minutes and then left without buying anything. Another tried to flirt with her. She stared blankly at him until he stopped smiling.
At 4:00 a.m., she made coffee just to have something to do. She didn't drink it.
Mr. Dreyfuss came in around 4:30, waddling into the back office like he was the goddamn store emperor. He gave her a look over his half-moon glasses as if she had done something wrong by still being there.
"You look half-asleep," he said, already typing something at the manager's computer.
"I'm awake," she replied.
"Well, try not to scare off the customers with that attitude. You know how fragile the morning crowd is."
She didn't respond. Just nodded and stared at the security monitor again. Watching nothing. Watching herself.
At 6 a.m., her shift ended. She clocked out, took her coat off the hook, and slung her backpack over one shoulder.
"See you tomorrow," she mumbled to Dreyfuss.
"Make sure you're on time."
She was always on time.
Outside, the sky was starting to brighten. The city was still mostly asleep, but delivery vans and garbage trucks rumbled past like beasts waking from hibernation. The bus stop across the street had one old woman at it, clutching a shopping bag. Her eyes met June's and then slid away like oil over water.
June pulled her coat tighter and started walking home.
She could've taken the bus. But walking gave her something to do. Something between work and sleep. Something that felt like motion.
The pavement was wet with dew. Streetlights blinked out one by one.
She passed a bakery just as it opened. The smell of fresh bread floated into the street, warm and sweet.
Her stomach growled.
She didn't stop.
Home was a five-floor apartment building with peeling paint and a broken elevator. Her unit was on the fourth floor. She took the stairs because the elevator had a habit of stalling between levels and trapping people for twenty minutes.
As she climbed, she thought about how she'd been doing this for three years. Same walk. Same job. Same manager. Same loneliness.
Same nothing.
Her apartment door creaked as she opened it. The place was dim and quiet, one room, mattress on the floor, a kitchenette, a shelf with three books she didn't read anymore. A cracked window. A space heater that only worked if you kicked it.
She dropped her bag on the floor, pulled her shoes off, and lay down on the mattress without changing clothes.
The silence felt heavy. Like it was pressing down on her chest.
She stared at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed once. A notification from a spam app. Something about signing up for a trial gym membership. She deleted it.
No messages. No missed calls.
A thought drifted in, uninvited...
If I didn't show up tomorrow, how long would it take them to notice?
Dreyfuss would be annoyed, but he'd call in someone else. The regulars wouldn't care. Her neighbors wouldn't know. Her inbox would stay empty. Her phone silent.
Would anyone wonder where I went?
Would anyone care?
She turned over, pulling the blanket over her face like it could block the thought out.
It didn't.
"Sometimes I wonder if they'd even notice if I just stopped showing up."