**This story is being rewritten under the title Rapture: With love with heavy changes. If you enjoy the story or if you want a much better written version then add that book to your read list and follow it's updates.**
-November 18, San Diego CA-
I can feel the moisture on my forehead again, I hate the feeling, I hate how I sweat whenever I work. But it happens, without a fail, every time. I try not to look at the rag in my hand as I run its moisture across yet another table—the thing is filthy, it always is after another day of hard work. The sun's already set and the mingling crowd in the restaurant is the few that decided a late dinner is the way to go, and didn't mind the eventual attempts to close the restaurant by us employees, or the sound of a vacuum in the distance.
I glance out through the window and into the falling darkness, the street lamp in the center of the parking lot just went out again—that stupid light, it scares me when it goes out, I feel someone is going to break into my car or try to mug me on the way out. They had, incidents, in the past and now force the employees to leave after closing in groups of three or more.
Even though I know it's cool outside this black apron and thick red shirt combination still had me feeling hot. I sure wish one of these lingerers leave while I'm cleaning off the tables in the back so I can get that cool air coming in. No luck, I have to move away—can't sit here pretending to clean the same table forever, some manager is going to stroll by and question my motives.
The light outside flickers, it is trying to come on again but fails miserably—go figure, the city just needs to come out and fix that shit, it's a danger to us employees working the night shift. "Neel," a voice from above snaps me out of my concentration on outside and daydreaming of cooler times. "I'm going to start vacuuming the back. The party of twenty left a few minutes ago." I'm well aware they left, the entire group filed out of the restaurant moments before I was near the exits with degreaser in a bucket hoping for some cool relief.
"Fine, fine, Maria," I nod as continue wiping down the tables. This means it is my job to clear off the dishes on the rest of the tables left, even her section. I peer over the railing next to me, she was in a section of the restaurant that was platformed, two stairs above the ground floor I was on, a similar section was on the other side—a mirror replication. I could see her run into one of the two remaining floor managers and the conversation quickly devolved into Spanish. It looks like once again I'm the only white guy left tonight. The moment the last five or six tables of customers leave I'm sure Spanish will quickly become the dominant language and I'll be left in the dust with my own devises. That's how it happens most nights.
The light outside flickers again, back on now—well at least it's safe for the few customers left. I see a couple in the section above me stand up and proceed to the exit after making sure to grab their jackets. I quickly counted, four tables left—it's going to be an early night for me, I am lucky I didn't draw the straw to vacuum tonight—that takes forever.
As the couple reaches the exit the light outside flickers off again—well so much for their safety. I move around the wall in front of me and up into the section they were at. There are still three occupied booths here, but I can easily clean around them with the degreaser without much hassle and I need to pick up the remaining dishes on the recently-deserted table anyways.
I hear rattling from above, no, now all around me. The lights in the restaurant dim and go bright again and the couple at the door froze just before exiting. An earthquake now? I look at the windows, nothing outside seems to be moving but the windows are still wobbling. Everything stills except the moving windows. Something small, no big deal. The girlfriend went to push at the door, I see her first with one hand, then with an arm, then with her full body—the door, it wouldn't open?
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