September 8, 2019
Ally knows the hours very well by now ("I've been here two years!" she announced when we met earlier). Like she said, the store is full of last-full-show theatregoers, scrounging for junk food. I almost lose my mind attending to these people, but at the same time a certain calm washes over me. If I can get past this—if I make it to 2 a.m. intact—I'll know that life's going to be OK. Ally signals to me from the aisles, we talk via eyes now. "Holler if you need help," her eyes say. I wink.