He snatched it up, nerves jangling. A neighborhood grocery store needed a night shift cashier. Without hesitation, he sprinted three blocks, ignoring the burn in his lungs. Bursting into the store, he found the manager—a weary-eyed man in a wrinkled apron. Derrick pleaded for an immediate job.
The manager frowned, clearly skeptical of Derrick’s desperation. Still, workers were hard to come by, and the sign was posted for a reason. He gave Derrick a clipboard with forms and asked for a quick background. Derrick’s pen shook, mind buzzing with images of Rusty’s fading life.