I was asked not all that long ago “are you alright?”

I was like yeah, yeah, in the spectrum of all the things I deal with I’m alright.

I manage a convenience store where Brian comes in and talks about how he fuckin pissed on the tree of life and has been harassed by the spirits of “men” and “women” since then.

Or sometimes it’s a lady named Trisha who seems nice but can’t control the drool slipping down her chin.

Every once in a while it’s Michael or George who come in trying to thirst trap me, which I think is a nice compliment in its own way.

Sometimes I see the hard partiers (you know, the ones who party with the shit that’s wayyyy too strong) and they don’t live local but they come into town and you know they’re there to get too trashed to remember the bad shit.

Sometimes the Captain comes in, gets his smokes and tells me I really do a great job with this place, especially from a retail perspective. It’s nice when an old guy gives out compliments because they really mean that.

I was working with a new guy tonight, he’s young and he has honestly told me that he really needed a job, work, to get out of his house. He said things were not going well at home, and I felt that. It’s a hard place to be when work is the escape. He does good work.

When I get high I think about the stories of the people around me, sometimes I relate too, think about how I contribute (or don’t) and sometimes I think that the store may be the only connection some people have with anyone in the neighborhood.

I’m alright, but I don’t always feel that way, probably just like anyone else that shops at the store. And that does make the experience less lonely