A First Draft

He sat down, with a fresh pen he had lifted from behind the counter at the end of his shift, and said out loud, “I’m starting the list.” This was going to be it — all the ones he needed to contact, to review and maybe reconcile. Their fault, his fault. Either way, they would talk it over. The people who were necessary.

The sky dimmed to black, and the purple-white LED streetlight flicked on outside his window. When he put the pen down, his list consisted of a stick figure lion, an old school Metallica logo, and thirty eight spirals. He was tired, and the opening shift started in a few hours.

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