Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Graveyard

   By Adrian Mailenna

   I hate working graveyard at the pawn shop.  It depresses me, the
druggies scraping for another hit, the gangfights and the accidents.  I
don't hear them anymore, only the ambulances.  One went by, few nights
back. It was raining.  A kid came in ten minutes later, soaked and
depressed.  "What happened out there?" I asked.  "Drunk," he explained,
setting down a battered ring box.  "Can't keep this." It was an engagement
ring, brand-new.  "Two hundred," I offered.  He looked worse.  "Two-fifty."
He took the money, numbly.  "Get turned down?" He broke down and cried. 
"Never got to ask..."

   -- Copyright 2004 Adrian Mailenna.

   Personal use encouraged.  All other rights reserved.
   ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/adrian_mailenna