The woman in the vest is staring

The woman in the vest is staring

at a snarl of thermal paper.

She sighs, a wet, heavy sound

that smells like the menthol

she smokes on her break.

Behind me, the janitor's bucket

sloshes gray water against the plastic.

I look at the rack of lighters,

rows of bright plastic, yellow and green,

crowding the headline about a celebrity’s diet.

The conveyor belt gives a dry, mechanical jerk,

moving my milk an inch closer to nothing.