7-11

711

Long gone were the lingering aromas of day old hot dogs and watered down convenience store coffee. Of course, the power had been out for some time now. The shelves were stripped bare in some manic race for survival. Well, almost bare. A few packs of Christmas tree air fresheners were left on their hooks. Surprisingly, there were few signs of a struggle, aside from the mad dash to pillage useful items. The workers here hadn’t put up any resistance to the panicked hordes. Loyalty didn’t come with minimum wage, or any wage for that matter. When terror gripped the mind such things became irrelevant.

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