The Schedule is Compromised: Jay
Watching Mallory move through the final twenty minutes of the lunch shift was like watching a movie that had finally been color corrected. She wasn’t just a ghost anymore. She was actually talking to the last few customers, not just reciting the check totals. Tiffany kept giving me confused, suspicious side-eyed stares from the side station, but I didn’t care. The “Machine” had finally glitched, and for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe. When we finally clocked out, the silence of the mid-afternoon lull had settled over the restaurant. I waited for her, leaning against the hood of my car. Mallory walked out five minutes later. She’d ditched the apron, her button down was wrinkled, and her hair had a few escaped strands. Her movements were a little too fluid, her eye
- Writer
