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Grimm’s

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The ticket stabber is over-
flowing on hour ten of my shift.
“¡Vamos pendeja, vamos!” Miguel
yells over the counter. I flip off
the food heater and stick three
ice cubes down my bra, then stack
table 34’s plates on my left arm.
“Lex, I need a follow” she runs
over and grabs the last basket of
chili cheese tots. An hour later,
the counter is empty and wiped
clean of grease. I restock sauces in
the walk-in and sit down for the first
time today. I clock out at 10:45, say
my rounds of “Goodnight” to the last
standing servers. Pepper spray clutch
in hand, I fumble for my keys in the dim
parking lot. The silence in the passenger
seat is my favorite part of a double-day.
I pull into the gravel driveway, frowning
at the orange-lit room next to mine.
I knock twice on the purple door so
my baby sister knows it’s just me.
“Can you read me a bedtime story?”



Kaylee Lowe lives in Tennessee and recently graduated with a Creative Writing degree from Cumberland University. Poems from her senior project chapbook, “Black Apron,” have been published in New Square literary journal, Cafe Review, and here in Novus Literary Arts Journal. She plans to pursue a M.F.A. in Creative Writing.