Logan placed the carton of milk in the bag. He punched numbers into the cash register. “Twelve Seventeen” he told the customer. He handed him a twenty. Logan looked in the register. “Oh I'm sorry sir, " Logan told the man. We’ve got no more ones.” The customer, a middle aged man with a slick black suit looked at Logan like he just punched him. “Well, what are you going to do then? Don’t just stand there dumbfounded at your lack of skills.” the man retorted. Logan ran to the cash register over where his co-worker Jimmy was working. Logan didn't mind Jimmy but Jimmy hated him. When Logan walked over he looked at him with a sour face? “Just need to grab some ones.” Logan said, barely looking at him. After getting the necessary change, Logan walked up to his register. The man, and the milk were gone. Logan sighed and went to the security room. There sat Olajide Olatunji, an overweight forty year old man and divorced. As far as the rest of his coworkers go, Logan didn't mind Olajide. He was quiet and kept to himself. Never made any rude comments. Olajade pulled out the footage and saw the man walking out with the milk and entering a gray Toyota, its licence plate shining back at Logan. “Thanks, Olajide.” Logan said as he patted him on the back and left. The police were thankfully cooperative and tracked him down pretty quickly. His boss however, was less than thrilled. “How could you let your own customer steal the milk beneath your nose.” Raged his boss. “Honestly, it’s like you're trying to help the robbers.” “I’m sorry,” Logan mumbled under his breath. “No sorries. you’re paying for that milk and getting out of my store. You’re fired.” his boss screamed. Logan knew not to argue. He left the store and walked home. He couldn't afford to pay for his car loans months ago. Logan got to his tiny apartment in the slums of chicago. Logan's only source of income was his minimum wage paying job at the supermarket. He had no idea how he was going to pay rent. Logan decided to clear his head and walked across the street to a diner owned by his cousin, JJ. Logan ate here almost daily since JJ always gave him a discount. Logan sat down in his usual booth, the farthest from the door and looking straight out into an alleyway. “Hey Logan.” The waiter, Carrie said as she came up to his table. “The usual?” JJ nodded, his eyes fixed on a cat scurrying through the alleyway. Its body was white but the tip of its tail was black. It was looking directly at Logan. Logan's attention turned to the door where several people loudly walked in chatting amongst themselves. Logan immediately recognized them as the Trippie Redd, a wannabe gang imitating the gangs of southside. As far as Logan, or anyone else knew, the most dangerous thing Trippie Redd did was vandalize their logo on the side of a building. Logan watched as they sat  down in two booths still shouting loudly.

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Logan was irritated. He hated loud noises, especially senseless screams coming from them. Carry apparently hated them as she threatened to kick them out if they didn’t lower their voices. They stayed quiet, but all that seemed to do was bore them. As Logan was taking the first bite out of his grilled cheese one of the men came up to him. He was no younger than 18 and no older than 25. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt and baggy shorts. A long snake tattoo slithered up his arm, its mouth stretched as if ready to pounce at any given moment. He smiled. “You liked sandwiches, huh?” He asked Logan, trying to contain his smile. Logan looked up. “I-I guess so?” “Well,” the man replied. “I've seen your house. You've got no dough.” Logan tried to respond but the man cut him off again. “Don’t worry. We’re here to help. We’ve got three hundred and fifty bucks in my back pocket that can be all yours if you do something for me.” “what?” Logan excitedly asked. He hated to sound so desperate, but he was nothing but desperate. The man smiled. ‘You see that sandwich over there?” he asked, pointing to another grilled cheese Carry had just brought over to his booth. “All you have to do is eat it.” Logan was not dumb. He knew the sandwich was laced with something. They knew he wasn’t that dumb too, not even hiding that they had poured something in. Logan had to accept. If he didn’t get this money, he would be homeless in three weeks time. That money will at least give him a couple more weeks to find a stable job. Logan accepted. The men cheered as Logan took the sandwich and sat back in his own booth. He took a bite. Everyone cheered. Logan felt woozy and blacked out at the corners. “Ohhh,” he mumbled. “Don’t back out now,” someone- he couldn't tell who, he couldn’t see- encouraged him. Logan took two more bites. He was halfway done by now. Everyone was clapping and cheering. He didn't know why. His vision was blurry. Spots danced about his eyes. That cat was back in the alleyway looking at him. His mouth felt clamp, and had difficulty opening his mouth. He felt drunk. “What is this?” he drunkenly stammered, falling onto the floor. “This cheese is sticky. I like my cheese drippy bruh.” The men all howled with laughter as Logan took one final breath before his eyes rolled over and in his last bits of consciousness he heard the money fall on him as he heard a voice telling him, “it was laced with nuclear radiation.”