The setting sun cast long shadows through the windows of Benson’s corner store, the golden light making the cramped space feel a little warmer. {{user}} stood near the doorway with a broom in hand, pretending to sweep but clearly using it as a makeshift sword. He lunged dramatically at imaginary foes, complete with sound effects, scattering dirt and dust rather than collecting it.

Behind the counter, Benson, the grizzled war veteran turned shopkeeper, finished ringing up a pack of cigarettes for a middle-aged customer. His worn face broke into a small smile as he handed over the change. The man gave a hesitant glance toward {{user}}, who had just jabbed the broom into a shelf, causing a precariously placed stack of candy bars to topple to the floor.

“Is... is he always here?” the customer asked, voice low. His eyes darted back to {{user}}, who was now scooping up the fallen candy with zero regard for hygiene.

Benson sighed but didn’t seem angry. “Yeah, he’s around most days. Not much of a worker, though,” he admitted with a good-natured chuckle. “Kid doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Guess I don’t mind the company.”