Intimidated by the line at the cash register, Theo decided to flag down an employee. Strategically, he darted to the men’s section, a lonely wall lining the back of the store. The men’s merchandise was neatly organized, nearly untouched. A plump Latina with bunned hair asked if he needed help. “Yeah, I’m thinking about applying to work here. What are hours like?”

The woman peered back at him through purple contact lenses, studying him. “You’re not one of those secret shopper auditors, right? You have to tell me if you are.”

“I’m not an auditor, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have to tell you. That would defeat the purpose of conducting a secret audit. Should I speak with someone else?”

She turned her head, scanning for potential eavesdroppers. Theo studied her bun as her neck swiveled, wondering how it could remain so perfectly still, frozen in place like frosting on a birthday cake. “No, we’re good,” she finally answered, guiding him over to a rack of acid-green T-shirts and pretending to offer him fashion advice.

“So, here’s the deal. We get mad hours, but the manager is, like, insane. Like, literally insane. Without sanity. She doesn’t have it.” Her outstretched arm was suddenly frozen, pointing toward the hideous green shirts as if she’d found the perfect visual representation of the manager’s mental health. Theo raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to continue.

Her arm regained consciousness, limply dropping to her side. “She only hires people who either look Puerto Rican, run really fast and can prove it, or who, like, went or are going to business school. And if you betray her, she will literally ruin your life. I knew this one girl—”

“Where is she?” Theo interrupted. The woman gasped, grabbing Theo’s shoulder and squeezing tightly. Theo stared back at her blankly.

“Sorry,” she said, her stubby hand still on his shoulder. His dick fluttered in his pants, unsure whether he was excited or afraid. “I thought I heard her footsteps. I feel like she’s everywhere sometimes,” the woman whispered, scanning the store again and pointing toward a short, dark-skinned woman standing near the store entrance. Theo had missed her on the way in.

He walked toward the manager, the woman’s hand sliding down his back like an iron on cloth. “You’ve got nice shoulders,” she said as he walked away.

Her paranoia clung to him as he approached the manager, summoning memories of his impromptu meetings with the Loss Prevention department at Six Flags. They’d only approach him when he was in a group, singling him out, marking him. The conversations never varied. “Anything you want to tell me?” one of them would inquire as if Theo were a regular informant. There were always two of them: one asking questions, one just there.

“No,” he’d answer.