A Cold Day in Hell and Other Graveyard Shift Problems

I’m not a headache person. I’m more of a tummy-troubles girly, honestly. Stress, dairy, pre-exam nerves, it all goes straight to my gut. But tonight, the throbbing behind my eyes has me scowling at every customer. It might be the fight with Cora I can’t stop rehashing. Or the skull-rattling bass from that neonazi Artie’s slow drive-by’s. Personally, I blame the entity in the freezer. Following some arcane logic, it’s chosen tonight to act up, unleashing a racket of clanks and ominous hisses.I step across the cones blocking the freezer case and slap an out of order sign on the door. Frost spreads across the glass in response.“Yeah, yeah, you’re a big mean cold guy, I get it,” I mutter.At the counter I open my notebook, doodling my way through another round of recrimination and indignation. Of course Cora wants a job with regular hours. Even EMT’s have dayshifts. And that’s what normal people do. That’s what you thought you’d be doing by now, back when this job was just a way to get…

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