Monday

First cup of coffee didn't do the trick this morning. Need to find the eye drops or they'll accuse me of drinking on the job again; as if they had proof the first time. Need to head out onto the sales floor before the boss comes in and starts his bitching again.

There's Bill, better duck down aisle four, really don't think I can handle his egotistical bullshit this morning. Need to shoot over to the Deli Department anyway, they been screwing up too much lately; I'll have to kick a little ass--down double digits in sales and can't get that department set up to save their lives.

Shit, it's Terry and there's no ducking this guy. Another Great story about his new boat again; same fucking story he told me last time and the fucking time before that. Best to just nod my head until the sad sucker finishes; don't need another 'talking to' regarding my lack of people skills.

Well, at least it was shorter than last week. Got to keep moving.

But there's Shelley. Finally somebody worth talking to. She's wearing her black business suit again; third time this month. I wonder what crap she wants me to buy this week; got to keep my mind on her words—got to. Another display down the Dairy aisle, whatever. Lovely hazel eyes, Can't look down, can't look any lower. Concentrate on her words...focus on her words. Look her in the eyes. Focus.

I see her spread across the bank. Peaceful. I see her frail body and thin arms pale against the green grass. Her eyes stare blankly toward the sky; sharp chin laying gently to the right. Her breasts are tight against her yellow sweater. Her soft brown hair silhouetted around her narrow face. I see her beautiful thin neck...

Push the images out; push them all the way out! What's she talking about? Memorial Day display? Can't be, that's more than two months away. Focus. Eyes off the neck—eyes off. Just agree and walk away. That's all I need to do.

Wednesday

There's Shelley. She's going a little casual today with a baby-blue sweatshirt. What's she doing putting another display up? Did I agree to this? Better just walk by and nod; avoid talking to her. Just walk by. But she's so perfect.

Another story about her punk little boyfriend. Oh please tell me about how he treats you bad--about how he ignores you and belittles you around his friends...I'll just keep nodding and not stare. Such a pretty face; teeth so white with just the slightest overbite.

I see her laying on the grass; yellow sweater and black jeans, her face staring towards the darkening sky; bony fingers clutching the long grass. Her neck is...

Look into her eyes—stay with the eyes. What's she talking about? Got to keep the image from creeping back again.

...pale against the dark grass. Her long brown hair encircles her perfect face. Her neck is covered in dark red...

She's talking about getting out early Saturday to meet her friends at Mickey's for drinks; it's their 'favorite little pub' or so she's said a hundred times. Why do I give a rat's ass where she goes with her friends?

Friday

I'll see Shelley again today. She'll tell me about her fucking boyfriend. I wonder if today's a 'wonderful boyfriend day' or an 'asshole boyfriend day?' I'll avoid her. Or maybe I'll just walk by and smell her perfume.

Why does she think I care about her stupid dog? Does she think it's the only fucking dog that can catch a Frisbee? Last I knew it wasn't a carnival trick; when it learns to throw the fucking piece of plastic she might have a compelling story.

She's laying in the long grass, eyes sparkling in the fading glow of the sun, wet with moisture from her tears. A thin thread of snot slowly runs down her upper lip. She looks so peaceful.

I don't know what she's talking about but her soft voice is so soothing. Got to suppress the image. Concentrate.

She is so still, I can almost see the rhythmic up and down of her chest. Almost. She's wearing the yellow sweater. It's bright against the dark grass, though its collar is almost entirely red.

She must think she said something clever. I wish I knew what it was. Oh here we go, please tell me again how nice it is to have someone like me to talk to; how sweet I am. Oh please Just keep going on and fucking on...

Saturday

Why is she talking to Aaron? I hate that sniveling shit kicker. Why doesn't he bore somebody else with his heart-wrenching stories of a bitter divorce and how he doesn't see enough of his kids—does he think that pathetic sob stories going to get him into Shelley's pants? Best keep it nice, got to keep it nice, don't need trouble today. Shelley's wearing her yellow sweater.

She's laying so still, so peaceful. Her vacant eyes stare past me. Her tight yellow sweater is so inviting. Dark streaks flow down her petite breasts...

I don't know what she just said, but it's obvious she wants to end the conversation. She looks uneasy, stumbling over her words; is she scared? Did I say something? What did I say? Was I staring? Got to keep it cool, just say goodbye and walk.

Sunday

I hate working Sunday, especially when I feel like shit. Good day to cut out early. Fucking migraine. Good day to stay in the fucking office until I can slide out—don't need any whiny pricks irritating me today. Besides, the scratch on my face burns like a bitch; fucking thing's still bleeding. Must of been that fucking cat got me while I was sleeping. Think I'd of woken up, that shit's pretty deep.

Why the fuck are the cops here--gas station get robbed again? Think they'd just close that place down, seems like it gets robbed every other weekend. Great, Dan's pointing them my way. Can't he just handle it? He knows I don't know shit. Guess I won't be avoiding useless conversations today after all.

Do I know Shelley Langsfield? Why do they care if I know Shelley? The one who identifies himself as Officer Erickson says she was murdered in the park off U.S. 12, and the body was left on the riverbank. Believes she was abducted leaving Mickey's Pub. My head hurts. Why is he asking about the scratches?

The female cop with the thin neck chimes in. Something about the victim complaining to friends that I had scared her earlier that day—that I'd 'creeped her out.' Her badge reads Officer Campbell. I can't concentrate. Damn migraine. She has a thin brown neck...