It was their nightly ritual, closing up shop together. Now it was her job alone.
Everyone said the same thing: take time, grieve properly.
She thought she had. Until tonight.
The moment she locked the door, a switch flipped.
She slid slowly, agonizingly to the ground. Tears came next. She couldn’t stop them; she didn’t want to.
When the crying stopped, when the tears would no longer come, she began to laugh. Hysterically. Here she was, sitting in front of their store. Her back hurt, her knees hurt, everything hurt.
Worst of all? She had no way to get up.
The Weekday One Hundred 