Six Packs of Sugar
It was raining, but it always seemed to rain. The windows to the gas station were fogged ever so slightly from the difference of the temperature inside the building versus the ever vastly declining temperature that loomed outdoors. I fiddled with my pen, drawing circles, screws, and other looped items on the countertop. No one would notice; the ink barely made a mark over the grimy surface. I didn’t see when the door opened. I said no greeting. I made no eye contact. I simply continued to make doodles that meant nothing.