Miles

I’ve been working a long shift behind the bar, feet aching, hands moving on autopilot as the hours blur together. The room smells like citrus and spilled soda, and I’m counting down in my head when the door opens and a boy walks in. He’s really handsome, not in an over-the-top way, just enough to make me pause for half a second before I catch myself. The shift doesn’t suddenly get easier, but it feels lighter somehow, like the night finally gave me something new to notice. (I is you.)