Stocking Apples Beneath the Metal Corridor Ceiling

Stocking Apples Beneath the Metal Corridor Ceiling

I dreamed I was late for my shift at the grocery store, still in my pajama pants, hunting for my name badge in the parking lot. The automatic doors opened onto the usual produce aisle, except the ceiling was that long metal corridor from the space shows my roommate watches, with little blinking panels. I kept trying to stock apples but the cart barely moved, like I was pushing through syrup. My old high school lab partner was at checkout, wearing the same green apron as me and also some kind of headset, talking like we had a departure window. I couldn’t find the break room—the hallway just kept going past the dairy case. I felt embarrassed and a little homesick for my actual kitchen. When I finally clocked in on the wall tablet, it showed stars instead of the time, and I woke up worried I’d actually missed opening.