Eleven twelve. Bell rings. Here we go. Quarter past eleven, bell rings, in he slides, Long-stem roses and a look he couldn’t hide. Pays in twenties, leaves the change, keeps the smile razor-thin, Night ain’t even started… here we go again. Clean white shirt, worn-out eyes, Trying to look like everything’s alright. Walks past the shelves like he’s got a plan, Like everybody else who walks in after ten. Same four walls, same old glow, Everybody’s got somewhere they shouldn’t go. Same old clock dragging through the night, Everybody’s got a story under that parking lot light. Nothing good in aisle five, Where bad ideas come alive. You can fake it in the daylight, sure, Those bright store lights don’t buy the lie. Grab your excuses off the shelf, Everybody’s selling something to themselves. Bell goes ding… another arrives, Nothing good in aisle five. One-thirty-seven… same old coat, Roses gone, fresh cut on his hand. Bandage roll, antiseptic, jaw locked tight, Walking like he lost an argument with the night. Pays with singles, doesn’t say a word, Leaves behind a silence louder than the door. I watch him disappear down the lane, Same four tires, different kind of pain. Same four walls, same old scene, People chasing things they can’t redeem. The clock keeps moving, the floor stays clean, Another chapter nobody wants to read. Nothing good in aisle five, Where bad ideas come alive. You can fake it in the daylight, sure, Those bright store lights don’t buy the lie. Grab your excuses off the shelf, Everybody’s running from somebody else. Bell goes ding… another arrives, Nothing good in aisle five. Two sixteen… headlights cross the glass, Blue and white shadows moving fast. “Seen this guy come through tonight?” I glance at the camera, then back at the lights. “Can’t say much, it’s been a long night,” They nod their heads and step outside. I stock the gum and wipe the counter, Same old store, just getting louder. Four eleven… bell rings slow, Same old boots through the front door. Same tired face, same empty eyes, Like the whole world missed him passing by. Phone charger. Pack of gum. Couple small things before the sun. He looks around, then looks at me, Like we’re both carrying the same memory. Nothing good in aisle five, Still everybody shows up alive. Dragging pieces of yesterday, Trying to make it through another night. Grab your excuses off the shelf, Everybody’s hiding something from themselves. Bell goes ding… another arrives, Nothing good in aisle five. Five a.m. Lights still burning. Door still opening. Another shift. Another story.
