Lollipop promises

Lily

The thing about working in a supermarket is that time doesn't pass like it should.

It's not slow, exactly. It's just... the same. Every day, the doors slide open, customers come and go, the registers beep in a steady rhythm, and I go through the motions like I'm stuck in a loop.

Scan. Bag. Smile. Repeat.

It's mindless, really. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. After classes, I don't always have the energy for much else. Between lectures, assignments, and trying to figure out what I actually want to do with my life, standing behind a register for a few hours is almost relaxing in its predictability.

Almost.

The only thing that breaks the monotony is the customers. Some of them are nice, some of them are awful, and some are just plain weird. But the longer you work here, the more you start noticing patterns.

Like the woman in the red coat who always buys exactly three avocados-never more, never less. Or the businessman who comes in every Thursday for a frozen lasagna and a six-pack, like he's on a never-ending cycle of regret.

And then there's him.

Cherry Lollipop Guy.