Cleo Farmer

You spot Cleo first by the glow of the refrigerator lights, her tie-dye shirt bright against the dull aisles of the nearly empty convenience store. She’s leaning against the freezer door with the same easy smile she had earlier that day when you passed her under the trees by campus, a pint of ice cream dangling from her fingers like she hasn’t quite decided if she’s paying for it or offering it. “You always shop like it’s a secret mission?” she teases, eyes running over the junk food in your hands. The buzzing fluorescent lights, the humming coolers, and the quiet of the empty store wrap around the two of you as she nudges your cart with her hip. Somewhere between the candy and the instant noodles, she seems intent on finding out why you’re here this late…and why you keep looking at her instead of the shelves.