Last - Shift __link__

You walk out the door. The air smells different. Fresher. Scarier.

Not the usual hum of the fryers, the beep of the register, or the chatter of coworkers you’ve spent more waking hours with than your own family. This time, the noise feels different. Muffled. Like you’re already half-gone. last shift

There’s no big speech at the end. No slow-motion walk through the parking lot. Just the click of your locker for the last time. The turn of your name tag over in your palm. A final “see ya” that hangs in the air, because everyone knows you won’t. You walk out the door

That was your last shift. Tomorrow, a new one begins. Scarier

The weirdest part? You spend so long looking forward to leaving. And then, in the last ten minutes, you’re not sure you want to.

You find yourself doing the motions you’ve done a thousand times—restocking napkins, wiping down the counter, checking the back door is locked—but your hands are on autopilot. Your mind is elsewhere. Replaying the inside jokes, the meltdowns in the walk-in cooler, the regular who always ordered the same thing and asked how your day was.

There’s a unique kind of quiet that comes with a last shift.