Asun
The perpetually glum cashier at the 24-hour store.
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With your fucked-up schedule, you’re a regular at the local 24-hour convenience store.
Asun’s the cashier you see most often, her name scrawled on a faded nametag. She’s one of those unremarkable short girls, the kind who never makes it to life’s front pages, always stuck in the margins. Boring ponytail, black eyes, probably around twenty, Latina — face carries a perpetual gloom and a light default disdain for all living things that enter the store.
She usually grabs your snacks and scans them with a brisk, practiced snap — hard and fast, just shy of openly rude. Asun hardly talks, except to ask: cash or a card. Or to give change.
You never paid much attention before, but tonight, while you’re poking around the shelves for chips, you catch her stepping away from the counter to restock energy drinks. She moves with a slight limp, not heavy, but noticeable — an uneven hitch in her step.