Aurora 2022-Final

Braden Kelsey

Elaine Yaw

In Limbo

as “Buddy.” Jack works nights generally, the 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift, and when I walk in we exchange a “Hey Budd-ay!” He asks me what flavor smoke I want and tries to upsell me the bootleg products that have sat in the glass casing for eight months. I point through the glass at the packages I want and he picks up the wrong one. We do this a couple times before I say whatever in his hands works, and I pay. I head outside with a “Have a good one Buddy,” stepping into the bug-filled gas station lighting before climbing into my car. Most of the time, I don’t immediately open the package. Even when I get home I just hold it awhile, too embarrassed to admit defeat, before I decide I don’t care—either via the excuse of successful smokers or people who smoke their entire lives and still die naturally. I take a hit expecting my head rush, but like the last three years of hits, I’m left waiting for the next.

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