The yellow tape stayed on my mind all through the evening, stretching across my sleep like a bad fence.
By half past seven the next morning, I was sitting at my kitchen table with my ledger and a small stack of bills.
I counted out forty-five dollars in tens and fives, smoothing the corners of the paper money against the formica.
I set my keyring down next to the cash, the small silver key clinking against the wood of the table.
There was no sense in waiting for the afternoon rush when the store would be crowded and noisy.
I slid the cash into my coin purse, pocketed my keys, and decided to head to the SuperMart early.
The morning air in the lobby was thick with the smell of floor wax and overripe bananas as I walked through the automatic doors at half past eight.
Arthur was standing by the cart corral, but he was not wearing his usual blue vest lanyard.
A bright, thin orange strap hung around his neck instead, holding his plastic name card
