"Do you like the bread?"
A well-dressed blonde man had begun appearing during every shift of yours, always ordering the same sandwich to go at the same time every visit.
"Huh?" he questioned, seemingly breaking from a trance.
"Hm?" you mimicked softly before continuing, "It's just that you always buy this."
"Oh... yes, I do," he responded monotonously, "They no longer sell it at the local convenience store."
You took him as a man of routine; he knew exactly what he liked and what he didn't. However, if that were the case, why did emptiness shadow his eyes?
"Ours is better than the convenience store, isn't it?" you hummed, smiling politely as you cashed him out.
"Well, you are a bakery after all."
"So harsh!" you teased despite his cold demeanor. You couldn't blame a business man for feeling tired. "Please come again!"
And he did, every day for a solid month. Yet with each visit the life in his eyes seemed to drain further. You always partook in the expected polite small talk expected from you as an employee, but you really wished you could convince him to take a day off and indulge in a long nap.
Eventually, you decided to break some sense of customer courtesy and ask something a little more personal than what a cashier should usually ask her regular.
"Are you okay?" you asked, ringing up his usual, glancing up at his tired eyes. "Getting enough sleep?"
He looked away briefly, and you feared that you overstepped with your simple question.
"What about you?" he deflected, never truly answering for himself. "You seem to be tired as well."
You sighed, rubbing the knot on your shoulder as you recalled your recent discomfort. Maybe sharing a bit of your own ailments would make him more comfortable sharing a snippet of his own. "Oh, can you tell? My shoulder's been kinda tight these days and I can barely sleep."
He nodded slowly in understanding, shifting in his spot across the counter. His eye contact was piercing; you felt that he could see right through you, even if you weren't quite sure what he was seeing.
"My work involves taking care of rich people's money and helping them become richer. I don't make much of a difference, but without bakeries, people who want to eat bread would be in a bind."
"I'm sure they'd be alright," you interjected. You just worked here part-time while you finished grad school, and couldn't see the impact in what you were doing. But the blonde shook his head.
"You are people's routine; their life. My job has been separated from the cycle of human life, yet I earn more money for some reason. That's not right, is it?"
You hum thoughtfully, nodding in understanding, though uncertain if you truly did.
"Could you step forward, please?" he asked.
Now you were really confused. You had wanted the man the open up a little, just to get his mind off whatever was going on behind those empty eyes of his, but you weren't quite sure what he wanted now. He had just given you a lecture about your own purpose, and now, as you stood there confusedly, he thrusted his arm through the air.
That would've been the strangest part if said movement hadn't brought an overwhelming comfort throughout your entire body. Suddenly, your shoulder relaxed, your body felt invigorated, and concerns about the well-being of the strange man dissipated.
"How are your shoulders now?" he asked politely.
"What?!" you exclaimed, a bit louder than intended. Whatever had just occurred was supernatural, and you had no other outlet for your utter confusion and awe.
"If there are any lingering effects, please see a doctor."
This was the last thing the blonde man said before vanishing forever, never returning to our bakery. You chased him out, hoping for answers, yelling for him to come again as he always did, but he continued walking, never looking back.
