>“Large popcorn,” he grunts, his voice low, gravelly, like it’s been dragged through the gutters of this town. “Extra butter. And a Coke. No ice.”
>I nod, playing my part. The dutiful employee. The cog in the machine. But I can’t help but wonder what brings a guy like him here, alone, on a Tuesday night. Is he running from something? Or toward it? Maybe he’s just here to lose himself in the dark, to let the flickering images wash over him like a cheap whiskey.
>I hand him the popcorn, the grease already seeping through the bag. His fingers brush mine, and for a second, I feel the weight of his life pressing down on me. The loneliness. The hunger. The endless, gnawing void.
>He takes his Coke, turns, and disappears into the theater. The door swings shut behind him, and I’m left standing here, the smell of butter and regret clinging to me like a second skin.
>Another night in the belly of the beast. Another customer lost to the dark.
>I wonder if he’ll ever find his way out.
>I wonder if any of us will.