Check. Price. Shelve. Check. Price. Shelve. Check. Price. Shelve.

It was a mind-numbing monotony that David had been doing for so long, years that stretched beyond imagination. Still, the process was strangely comforting. His mind wanted to wander back to the shot, the blood, the…

Check. Price. Shelve. That’s all his brain wanted to know. That’s all he wanted to feel at that moment, which wasn’t much, just material objects passing through his hands, ready to pass into someone else’s. The transience was palpable, manageable.

”...awesome!” Someone was talking to him, but David just wasn’t hearing it. The young man stood beside him, rattling off effusively and gesticulating. There was a look of admiration and confusion.

“David!” a more familiar voice cut into his stupor. “David,” the voice said kindly, “Come in the back. You don’t have to do that right now. Let’s get a shirt on you, and…Jeez, you’re bleeding, all over the ketchup bottles! Come on, in the back w’ ya.”