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2.

    “How do you hide the weed smell, man?” A low, monotone voice appeared out of nowhere.

    Dani jumped and then attempted to hide the shiver that ran down her arms by shuffling around in the pastry display that she had just finished restocking.

    “Chill dude, it’s me.” Evan came to rest against the counter next to the display.

    She watched him out of the corner of her eye. The short, middle-aged man had on his daily uniform: an indecipherable band shirt that clashed with his khaki pants and bright lime green tennis shoes. Most days he was an absentee steward of the coffee shop. Not today. Getting called “man” made Dani’s skin crawl, but it was better to be thought of as timid than to deal with Evan’s drawn-out non-apologies about how he “calls everyone man”.

    “Whatd’ya mean smell?”

    “Fuck off. Your eyes are so red. But there’s no smell. I can never get it off me.”

    “I don’t smoke, Evan. I just had something in my eye I couldn’t get out.” A lie, but worth it if it kept him at arm's length. The last thing Dani needed was an invitation to smoke with her boss. She kept her gaze glued to the pastry display. It probably looked like she was trying to hide being high; Dani was hiding her rage. People always seemed to know exactly what she thought of them if they stared into her big, dumb eyes for long enough. Evan wouldn’t get the chance.

    “Yeah, whatever. If you ever feel like passing on the secret, let me know.” He fiddled with some of the signage.

    Dani could only imagine the internal conflict raging inside this forty-something punk burnout turned coffee shop middle manager. Evan only ever left the safety of his office to dole out punishments. After returning late from lunch, Dani helplessly watched as her coworker Sage bee-lined straight for his office. She had tried to apologize, as if making someone a few minutes late for their break was that terrible of a crime. Clearly whatever had changed in their coworking relationship over the last few months precluded Dani from even the most basic level of patience. Now trapped under her boss’ nervous stare, she focused her attention on cleaning the front counter. Time would tell if his conflict aversion or desire for respect would win out.

    “Oh, by the way, your phone light is still on.” He turned and headed back to his office.

    Conflict aversion it is. Once he was out of sight, Dani pulled out her phone to shut off the light. Evan was just the type of guy to reprimand her for having her phone out on the floor after making her pull it out. As she opened the screen, she saw a text from her girlfriend.

    xX-Roxx-Xx: Can you please for once have the dishes done BEFORE you leave for work? I don’t have time for this shit.

    Self-loathing crawled down Dani’s spine, spurring her into a cleaning frenzy. As the now crying, sole occupant of Daring Café eradicated all the dust, crumbs, and coffee stains, so too did her hatred and panic begin to wash away. In its place was a quiet, dissociative appreciation for a single moment of busy loneliness. No one is better suited for menial labor than a trans woman with a trauma-induced service kink. The dissociation puppeteered her around the storefront, until she found herself hovering over the self-service station. Dani double-checked the milk and creamer and discovered that she had already filled them. The last thing left was the sugar shaker. She opened it up and stared down at the shallow desert of white table sugar. An unfamiliar buzzing sensation radiated through her left eye. As it grew stronger, something disturbed the surface of the sugar.

    Writhing, whirling, clicking. Ants? Worms? No, Legs. Thousands of them.

    I’m having a stroke. Dani attempted to stop her hand from shaking. It wasn’t, she was perfectly still. All the muscles in her hand relaxed and the sugar shaker fell, spilling its contents. The sound of the fake glass container hitting the fake marble counter echoed through the empty café. Dani yelped and the buzzing stopped.

    “This place is so fucking gross.” Sifting through the sugar, panic returned as Dani discovered that the mess she made was just that. No bugs. No legs. She brushed it into a nearby trashcan, refilled the shaker, and turned towards the front counter of the café. Sage stood in the doorway of the break room staring at Dani, mouth agape.

    Something’s wrong with me. Dani ignored her for the rest of their shift.

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