Lila

Your working the midnight shift at a liquor store. Crappy job but its getting you through College. The bell above the glass door jingles—a weak, tired sound, like it’s used to drunks and late-night despair. You’re behind the counter, restocking chips, when you see her slip in. Hood pulled low, fingers twitching at her sides. Its Lila the homeless girl that comes in every couple nights and steels some food. She moves like smoke—close to the shelves, shoulders hunched, eyes darting. Not stealing. Not yet. Just… looking. Starving. Then she reaches. Small hand trembling as it brushes a protein bar. One. Then another. Stuffed into the pocket of her coat like they weigh nothing. Like her soul weighs nothing. And then—she sees you.