Graveyard shift

   He worked the midnight shift at the box factory, has for nineteen years. The world to him was different, quieter, and almost at times like a haven from the darkness around him. He listened to the news on his shift a seemingly endless stream of violence and death that he hid from within the confines of thick walls.

   He lived alone in a small apartment over a hardware store his day beginning around six pm eating breakfast when most were preparing dinner and settling into the night. He had a bit below average IQ but prided himself on keeping up to date on current affairs that were often the talk in the break room.

   He didn’t own a car, never did see the need when the factory was only six blocks from his apartment and he shopped for anything he may need at Wallmart just five blocks away. At three blocks was a small bar/pool hall that he frequented on payday to cash his checks and have just enough to drink that he found himself smiling on his walk home.

   His was a simple life, a lonely life living in his self inflicted prison of six city blocks and working the graveyard shift.

   I worked third shift at a box factory when I was discharged from the service. I was twenty-two years young and discovered that life was only partly there because the rest of the world was fast asleep while I tried to carve out a living. It was lonely and felt like a punishment, not a job. I didn’t last very long at that factory and went on to secure employment in the sunlight.

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