Summer humidity seeps in through the open front door, mixing with the artificial cool of the ancient AC unit wedged into the window. The refrigerator cases hum and rattle, their motors kicking on and off in a rhythm you've learned to tune out.

Your phone buzzes on the counter. Mom, checking in. Again. You swipe the notification away without reading it.

Outside, a car passes with bass so heavy it rattles the loose change in the tip jar. Someone laughs—a high, bright sound—and then a basketball thuds against pavement. The usual sounds of the neighborhood settling into evening.

The store is clean. Quiet. Waiting.

<Narrator>: The evening stretches before you. The night is young.

Leaning against the doorframe, a boy with bright pink hair grins at you. He's holding a basketball under one arm, sweat glistening on his forehead. He's young, maybe late teens, with an easy, friendly energy.