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.