Spare change piles up in the cup holder gas station receipts litter the floor like cigarette ashes in a high school bathroom. They pile and we let them. I ram the door open and force my skeleton through the work entrance.
The elevator repairman’s keys fling, slingshot on the half-ripped right-hand side belt loop, clinging and clanging, a noise reminiscent of dragging Terminator’s metal arm across the floor. They are only his temporarily, after all, soon to be handed to the next victim. Sweating in eight-hour increments, patches of blood monkey-climb his shirt from yesterday’s round-the-clock … Continue reading Mall Walker by Alyssa Trivett