Late at night, in a very quiet town somewhere in the middle of the United States, the

Late at night, in a very quiet town somewhere in the middle of the United States, there was a small 24-hour grocery store called Pine Hill Market. It sat at the corner of Maple Street and Oak Avenue beside a gas station that only had four pumps and a faded blue sign that buzzed softly during the night. Most people in town barely noticed the store anymore. It had been there for years. The automatic doors opened slowly. The floor tiles were slightly beige. The shopping baskets made a soft plastic sound whenever someone picked one up. And every single night, at exactly 10:15 p.m., the night manager arrived. His name was Daniel. Daniel drove an old silver sedan that made a tiny squeaking sound whenever he turned into the parking lot. He always parked in the same spot, three spaces away from the cart return area. Not two spaces away. Not four. Always three. Nobody knew why. Daniel would sit in the car for a moment before getting out. Sometimes he listened to the weather report. Sometimes he adjusted the air conditioning vents even though the car was already off. Sometimes he simply stared through the windshield at the softly glowing store sign. Then he would take his keys, lock the car with one quiet click, and walk toward the entrance. Inside the store, the refrigerators hummed gently. A coffee machine near the checkout counter made small bubbling noises every few minutes. The overhead lights buzzed so faintly that most customers never noticed them. Daniel always began his shift