Tuesday

Pat awoke to the monotone droning beeps of his now old-fashioned digital alarm clock resting calmly on the nightstand beside his bed. He reached over with his left hand in an attempt to hit the snooze button but instead knocked the alarm clock onto the floor, which continued its abrasive beeping. It nearly knocked over the picture of him and his wife, which now teetered on the edge of the nightstand.

"Shit," Pat muttered as he slowly lifted his body into a sitting position on the edge of his double-mattress bed. Reached down, he fiddled with the alarm until he was able to silence it. "There we go, you little fucker. Not today." He slid the picture back toward the center of his nightstand, laid back down and rolled the covers back over himself before resting his eyelids once again. But after laying in bed awake for ten minutes, he finally admitted defeat with a subtle sigh. He slid out of bed and made his way towards the chair in the corner of the room where his work outfit waited for him, nicely folded and ready for him. He slipped into the visually unappealing khaki pants, stupid yellow hat, and polo shirt with the company name scrolled across his left breast. He went to leave the room but quickly returned to pick up his glasses, which lay gently on the top of his small wooden dresser. Pat made sure to brush his teeth thoroughly, utilizing a nearly worn out manual plastic toothbrush and his favorite mint-flavored toothpaste before finishing up by rinsing out his mouth with some green-tinted mouthwash. He looked at himself blandly in the mirror, tugging at the collar of his shirt, which was already starting to make his neck itch.

"Huh. Kind of hoping by the way this uniform looks that it would be built for comfort. Nope." Pat walked over to the front mat, which lay at the door of his apartment. He grabbed his thin windbreaker off of the overhanging hook, slipped on his worn-down runners, and patted his pocket to make sure he had his wallet and keys. He then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door swiftly, making sure to close it behind him. Pat removed the key from his pocket, re-locked the deadbolt, and tested the knob once just to make sure he'd correctly locked it.

He had begun his walk to work. Most people don't entirely focus on their pathway to work, but Pat likes to take the time to appreciate his. His apartment is built on the top of a hill, and the gas station he works at is situated near the bottom. Now Pat could take the copious row of wooden steps that paves a path almost directly there. Pat, however, prefers to take the scenic route, winding his way down through the densely wooded pine forest on the hillside. Very few people take that path, even fewer at night, but Pat considers it worth the extra ten or so minutes he spares because he finds it sort of refreshing. A calming lull in-between places of stress.

He adjusted his hat before beginning his regularly scheduled trek down the hillside. As he entered the small compact house of pines, the birds chirped their usual tune, not quite music, but more coordinated than just random noise. He passed a small Asian family consisting of a mother and her three kids. Pat sees this family usually twice a week. They smiled and waved, and he did the same. Arriving upon the small creek next, Pat breathed in a gentle sigh, feeling reinvigorated by the sound of the water running through the creek bed as he always did. He stepped over the small wooden bridge. He grabbed his phone to check the time. Right on schedule. After leaving the forest area, he traced his way along the path until he reached the small red gas station called 'Coop'.

Pat only had a seven-hour shift, lucky for him. He worked mostly as a pump attendant, but would occasionally take shifts as a cashier like he was today. Pat basically took whatever shifts he could to help cover the rent and pay for his college classes. He started to dust some chips in one of the back aisles of the gas bar when his phone started ringing in his pocket. A slightly embarrassing 90s pop song came on. The supervisor, Karan, ducked his head out of the small office in the back, frowning at Pat.

"Hey, no phones," Karan stated dryly before pulling his head back inside. He spoke English well, very well, but it always sounded a bit unnatural coming from his mouth, clearly not his first language. Sort of like when someone has to learn to throw with their left arm. No matter how well they can throw, something's always just a bit...peculiar.