I arrived just as the librarian unlocked the door, so I was first to sign up for an hour of computer time. A few minutes later the seats around me filled up with others who had no internet access at home. The chair next to me was taken by a man in a brown coat that reeked as if the original color of the coat had been white. As I waited for the home screen to load, I took my hood down to let my hair thaw.

Inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. Breathing in deeply to remind myself not to get my hopes up, I typed my username and password into my email account. I filtered through multiple spam messages before I saw it, an email from Rucker’s Law Firm. I clicked on it. I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My stomach sank as I read, We thank you for your application with Rucker’s Law Firm. Regretfully, the secretary position has been filled. Best of luck. None of the other applications I had sent even replied.

I logged off, too upset to search for another job. Thinking about The Palace as my home and work place for the foreseeable future made my stomach flip. I had looked almost every day for the last few months. There were no job openings in this city, at least none that I was qualified for. It had been 8 months since I was let go from my job as the secretary at Blake and Dunn, an attorney’s office a few townships over. The funny thing was, when the business was suffering, I was the one who mentioned to the office manager that restructuring and downsizing could save them. I had even spoken with him about moving offices to a more affordable area. The next week he held a meeting for the whole nine people he employed and informed us that he had been doing a lot of thinking as of late. That he had solely bore the burden to fix his business. The only thing to do was restructure and move. By restructuring he meant he was letting me and another girl go.

Sarahi, was her name. I haven’t heard from her since, but I can imagine she is at least warm today. She was a few years younger than me, and still lived with her parents when the company was “saved”. I never told my parents I was fired. Actually, I couldn’t remember if I told them I had been hired.

The last time I saw them was my second Christmas break from college. My baby brother sat in a high chair, only three months old. It was the first time I had seen him. My parents had been too busy studying up until the birth and the weeks following for me to visit. M-115 D-120. The tattoo shone brighter than any Christmas ornament on the tree that year. His head was kept shaved, so no fine baby hairs would cover the numbers.

I wasn’t surprised when they told me they couldn’t help me with my tuition anymore. I wasn’t really theirs, and this was their way of telling me I wasn’t their child anymore. I was a government placement to grant their wish 19 years earlier when they thought they couldn’t get pregnant.

I walked in between the false wood shelves, waiting until my hair was completely dry before I ventured outside again. I flipped open the occasional book as I walked, more out of habit than interest, a good way to avoid eye contact with some of the less upstanding patrons of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library.

I passed a shelf with SAT prep books on it. Thoughts about my time at college swum up out of the depths of my memory. What a wasted degree, communications. Why didn’t I pick something in the sciences? Would it have mattered? I did nothing with it, found a job as a secretary my last year of college and kept it for four years, and now it is worthless. Who wants to hire someone that has never had experience in the field after four years? But before I could get lost thinking about my past dream job as a social media director, the shaking of coins in a styrofoam cup pulled me back into reality. “Spare change, Ma’am?” asked a man wearing jeans that were more air than material. I shook my head.

The man continued past me mumbling, “Have a blessed day. Persim cares for you.” I did not return his government blessing and made my way to the door. Pam will be mad at me if I am not back before noon to help with the bedding. Not that there is much to wash. I touched my hair to feel that it was dry and braced myself for the cold. The metal push bar was freezing, and a burst of icy air seeped through my cotton jacket. I quickly pulled my hood up again and reinserted my hands into my pockets as I set a fast pace.

I walked by the shelter again on my way home. The line was doubled from an hour or so ago. I saw the woman Cherry Reeds interviewed. She was still standing in line, bouncing her baby. She had a nervous look in her eyes as she inched forward in line, almost at the door. The news vans were gone now, but the small street looks more crowded than ever. There were the usual patrons of the shelter, and many new faces peeking through apartment windows to see the cluster outside. I heard a hum. A police drone flew overhead and out of sight. The apartment blinds all closed simultaneously.

Pam was leaning against the small built in counter with white painted wood panels when I walked inside. I brushed paint chips out of my hair as I pulled the door closed. She looked up at the noise, but seeing that it was only me, returned to her Dollar Store crossword puzzle book and pushed the welcome sign half an inch closer to the edge without looking up. “Guest checked out this morning. Bedding needs washing.”

I nodded and went to strip the bed that mimicked my own. A crumpled five dollar bill lay on the nightstand, and I pocketed it before I entered the hall. I learned a while ago that it is better not to tell Pam if a guest leaves a tip.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I smelled the SCLRDS before I opened the door. The rotten mildew scent clung to the very foundation of that room. I washed the lone sheet and pillowcase. I threw in the shirt I wore a few days ago, so I could have something clean tomorrow. Maybe I could ask Pam for actual pay. I helped out enough that I should be able to buy another pair of pants. But then I thought about it more as I measured out a scoop of detergent. Pam wasn’t the most generous person, and I knew how much the hostel was bringing in. She had nothing to be generous with except the walls she let me stay inside. I would have to do without a second pair.

The money was burning a hole in my pocket, so I shut the SCLRDS door and went out the back into the alleyway. The convenience store was the only shop with food within walking distance, and although the prices were higher than they should be, it was always fresh. The owner, a middle aged man from Ecuador, was a prime example of a model citizen. He came into this country in the last wave of immigrants before the borders shut down again, and he did everything he possibly could to be “American”, including having his first name changed to Harry. No one, not even his American wife, knew his birth name.

The smell of rotating hot dogs and ammonia filled my nose as I pushed open the barred glass door. Harry nodded at me and set the Windex down to move behind the counter. His eyes watched me like a hawk. Not that I’d ever stolen from him.

I eyed the gloves on display at the end of the candy aisle. The thin cotton called to me, but then my stomach rumbled. I marched to the last row of food and began pricing the loaves of bread versus rice. I looked up as the door jingled. Old man Rick came in. He made a show of rubbing his hands together.

“Brr, some weather,” he called to Harry.

Harry nodded and shifted his gaze from me to Rick.

“How old are them hot dogs?” Rick asked.

“Today, I cook them today,” Harry said, his voice lowering.

“Come on, man. There ain’t no way. I saw that one in the back a week ago,” Rick laughed as he spoke. Harry did not reply, but his eyes darkened.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Full price for a hot dog. Today I got money,” Rick slapped his pocket to make the change rattle. “No mustard packets, I see,” he said and his eye caught mine.

He walked my way with a big grin on his face.

“Well, if it isn’t Cora. How has the Queen been lately?” he asked and put a rough hand on my shoulder.

“Pam’s fine,” I said.

“She, uh, say anything about me?” He winked.

I moved out from under his hand. “No, she’s got a lot going on,” I lied, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

Rick nodded like he knew everything, “Watchin’ that damn news channel all the time I still bet. Listenin’ to the lies.”

Slam. We both turned to see Harry with a fist on the counter. “No lies,” he said.

“No lies? No lies? Of course there are lies,” Rick said. He put his hand on my shoulder again and pulled me close to him. “Why just look at us. Look at you! We voted for her to get out of this place. Ain’t nothin’ changed. Lies!” If looks could kill, Harry’s eyes were shooting laser beams at Rick.

It was true though. 97% of the country voted for Persim in her first election. She seemed like the answer to all our problems.

“Out!” Harry yelled.

“Now just hang on. I want my hot dog!”

Harry reached for the phone. I slid out from Rick’s grasp as the security cameras all turned to face him and pulled my hood up to hide my face. Rick went pale and stared at the phone receiver like it was a loaded pistol.

Harry did not blink as he spoke, “Yes, hello. I would like to report unAmerican activity.”

There was a pause then there was an audible click as the store doors locked automatically.

“Yes,” Harry said and hung up the phone.

No one moved. Where could anyone go with cameras throughout the city now programmed with facial recognition software to follow Rick anywhere he went. A minute later a red van pulled into the parking lot.

Rick made a dash for the counter in a moment of madness, but Harry was prepared. The gun was pointed at Rick’s head when the agents used a universal skeleton key to enter the store.

“I voted for Persim! Persim cares for you!” Rick was screaming, but he knew it was too late. He fell to his knees still screaming, “Persim cares for you!”

The agent closest to him stuck the needle in his neck with expert precision. The effect was immediate. Rick stood up and his eyes stared into the distance. The agents led him outside without a fuss. Rick sat in the red van, eyes forward as they shut the door.

I had to pull my eyes away from the front door.I could feel the camera lenses on me now. I exhaled a shaky breath and grabbed the closest bag of rice from a shelf. I side stepped the yellow puddle where Rick had been just moments before and placed my money on the counter.

Harry laid my change down just far enough away that I had to lean over to reach it. I jammed the money in my back pocket and quickly turned to leave.

“Persim cares for you,” Harry’s deadpan voice had me freeze for a moment. Ice ran from my fingertips to toes. I didn’t have to look behind me to know Harry’s fingers were hovering over the phone.

I felt nauseous but pushed the words out anyway, “Persim cares for you,” I mumbled before pushing out into the gray day.