(Word Count = 157 cool

Amazing how time could fly when work ruled your life. Hitch didn’t really mind though - he was more than happy to leave the New Year’s Eve incident behind him. It was all anyone wanted to talk about for half of January -

“Were you there?”

“Did you pass out?”

“Can you believe that fight?”

“Those goddamn terrorists.”

“You know a body was found today? Teenage girl. Such a shame. She’d been missing since New Year’s…”

“I can’t believe the situation’s gotten this bad.”

“Remember how nice this city used to be?”

Hitch listened to their stories, but didn’t offer many of his own. Terrorists and fainting spells were one thing. Talking cats with lasers in their heads and a flash of a woman with a tail were something completely different. No matter how batshit this city was proving to be, he wasn’t about to single himself out as the king of the weirdos. It wasn’t hard to keep people talking about themselves with a few well placed remarks and questions, so he managed to keep his side of the story to a minimum -- and eventually it began to blow over. Things quieted down, and people began to gossip about other things. Varied crimes in the city, sales, politics: if it wasn’t for the occasional mention of terrorist sightings, it would be like any other city really.

He didn’t have much to add anyone. His days didn’t leave a lot of room for variation, much less socialization -- six out of seven days of the week, he was up by six a.m. He was at the deli by seven. He spent his morning serving customer needs, cleaning, broiling chickens, making sandwiches, checking up on soups, taking calls, cleaning, checking the bread, checking the meat, checking to make sure no one was stealing anything, sneaking out for cigarettes when it got slow, cleaning some more. He always threw a sandwich together for himself for lunch. He was out the door by three in the afternoon on the dot, and dashing his way across town to be at the supermarket by half past the hour.

Then he spent the rest of his day on his feet at the register until eleven each night. Sometimes he got to fill the candy, maybe dust, but usually he was just dealing with people throughout the day. Flashing them a smile. Bagging their purchases. Making small talk. Hearing the same tired old remark whenever something couldn’t scan that it must be free and pretending it was as hilarious as it was the first time. More cigarette breaks, maybe a quick snack, a small bag of chips or pretzels. Then, finally, they usually took the last customers and had their registers taken down by half past eleven. He’d walk home, and get there before midnight. Throw himself together a sandwich, take some time to talk to his mother’s picture before taking a shower and going to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

His days off, always Wednesdays and Friday mornings - not Friday nights, they didn’t give him enough hours to take Friday nights - had a little variety. The biggest being, he got to sleep in. Some days he slept until ten in the morning. Some days he didn’t bother getting up until the afternoon. Sometimes he had enough extra cash kicking around after the bills and the rent to go out somewhere to eat; those were the best days, really. Sometimes he cleaned, even if his apartment suffered terminal shithole status - it always felt like a waste of his time, but his mother would have wanted him to try. When the guys downstairs weren’t home, he’d take advantage and mess with his drums. He covered them when they weren’t in use, and sometimes a light layer of dust began to gather atop it - he wished he got to use them more. But that was just life. His life, anyway.

Sometimes he got to cook. Or read. He didn’t have a TV (he’d sold it when he’d moved, along with the DVDs, almost anything that didn’t have years of sentimental value attached), and his cellphone was a flip relic that was only built for the basic give-and-take calls functionality. But he had a radio, and his old CD player - he couldn’t part with his music, no matter how bad they’d needed the money.

That was about it, really. It wasn’t like he was miserable with his life or anything. That was too strong a word. He just… he didn’t see the point to a lot of things anymore. He talked to people at work, sure. It’d be rude not to. But he didn’t feel motivated to see them outside of it. At least, not until one day --

“Logan.” The grocery store required name tags, and as much as he wanted it his to read ‘Hitch’, they’d been bound and determined to stick to his birth given name. To his annoyance, most of the store stuck close to the name tag, and it’d been long enough now that they’d probably go right on calling him by his first name. He felt a prickle of annoyance each time, but he was trying hard to keep it to a minimum. He couldn’t afford to lose any more jobs here; fresh start. His neighboring cashier, some bulky guy who was probably a football pro in high school, leaned into his lane with a sly smirk. “You seein’ anyone?”

A jolt of discomfort surged through him, and Hitch made a face that earned him a laugh from the other man. “Don’t flatter yourself guy, “ another face, because really? Even if he was, that guy was literally the last guy in the world he’d -- “I got a girl I’m seein’ tomorrow, she’d got a friend, blah blah - you got the jist of it, you in or what?”

Hitch leaned back and used the tip of his tongue to toy with his lip piercing as he went to change out his receipt paper. He barely knew this guy, this - Joe, his tag said Joe, he felt stupid for forgetting. Usually he was better at remembering. But they’d talked maybe all of three times since he’d started here, and once had been a real stirring dialogue about work regulated shoes and how bad they wanted to go grab a smoke. “I don’t know man, I’ve got work, and - “

“Bullshit, tomorrow’s Wednesday.” Hitch resisted the urge to wince. Joe laughed at him, leaning against his register as he shook his head. “C’mon, I know you’re not puttin’ it in anything.” Did no one else hear this? Or did no one else care? - probably the latter. “I swear she’s hot. Really, I’m doin’ you a favor - or, what, you - “

“Yeah, alright, “ Hitch said quickly, sensing the slippery slope he was dealing with, and he looked down to try and shake the stiffness that had crept up into his spine. “Long as I’m not in your way, “ why him? Of all people, why him? “Thanks, Joe. Where should I meet you?”

----

A movie with some beers snuck in via backpack for good measure; that figured. Seemed typical for a guy like Joe. Hitch wasn’t a big drinker, but for this, he managed to force down a couple of cans to loosen up. He had to. The girl next to him, Julie, she was the close and cuddly type. Not like she was bad to look at or anything. Bottle blond hair, thin waist, limber all around really. She stood taller than him with her heels, might’ve even been able to do it without them. She whispered to him all throughout the movie while Joe and his girl kissed and stroked each other, and her lips were hot against the shell of his ear.

Hitch tried; he laughed at her jokes, slide an arm around her shoulders, kissed her back when she pressed her lips against his own. He wanted to like her; there was really nothing wrong with her. She was funny, she was sweet, and -- he felt a surge of sickly cold when she pressed against him in the parking lot and whispered that she wanted to drive him home. He didn’t complain when she took him to her place instead. He managed to shut his eyes instead of looking away when she slid a hand across the front of his jeans. He kept it together as she led him into her bedroom.

He gave up at around 3am, lying sleeplessly next to her. He gathered up his clothes and made for the door. He thought about leaving a note - but he didn’t. He just left, shutting the door as quietly as he could, and then he made for home as fast as his legs could carry him. The air was cold, but the cigarette he lit warmed him until he managed to get back to the apartment. From there, the routine was typical - only he didn’t bother to tell his mother about this one. She would’ve been ashamed if she’d known.

A few days later, Joe asked him about it. How it’d gone, why he up and left. Hitch had just shrugged; he said she was nice, but not his type, and that had been the end of it. Joe quit a few weeks later for a better paying gig, and either way, Hitch didn’t see Julie again.