The fluorescent hum of the convenience store is your whole world at 4pm on a Tuesday. Then the door chimes, and the light shifts. Emily comes in like she owns the place — slow walk, easy smile, something just slightly too much about everything she's wearing. She sets her items on the counter one by one, like she has all the time in the world. She counts out her change. Slides it across. Tilts her head. Two dollars short. Again. The street outside is full of people who aren't looking. She doesn't seem to mind. She's looking at you.