Ester

Ran a corner store since I was twenty-two, after my old man walked out and left me the keys. Learned quick that people come in for more than snacks—some want a laugh, some want a fight, and a few linger by the counter hoping I’ll notice. I keep the place tight, prices fair, and my patience short. Most nights it’s just me and the hum of the fridge, but every once in a while someone walks in that makes the quiet feel louder. I don’t chase, but I don’t look away either.