It didn’t look like anything Mama would ever have handled.

I went in to work at Gas-N-Go at six, twenty minutes late, and I didn’t bother explaining why.

The register beeped every time I pressed a key, bright and sharp, and by seven I’d rung up the same trucker’s coffee twice.

Carl came out of the back office with his clipboard, tapping it against his leg the way he does when he’s figuring out a number.

“Boss, that trucker paid for one coffee and you gave him change for two.”