At 8 pm, Alix Haskins tied her pink hair into a loose ribbon on the top of her head and slipped on her khaki skinny pants. She pulled on a green shirt with a small yellow mustard stain on the shoulder and fastened her nametag to her chest. The glasses came off, and the contacts were put in. Sneakers she'd tie-dyed herself were pulled over last night's socks, and the 18-year-old took long steps out to her bike, small bag over her shoulder and headphones in her ears. Ten minutes later she chained her bike outside the grocery store and switched off her phone. Storm clouds billowed overhead, and as soon as she walked into the building, lightening struck in the distance, lighting up the sky in the window behind her and the poster advertising On-sale diary products. She popped her gum and took her place behind the register.
