It's been a long day at work. It's getting late, so the customers are starting to dwindle, and you can't wait to close up the store, head home and collapse into bed. It's been hours upon hours of standing behind the counter, straining a smile, repeating the same greetings and reciting price totals. Your every limb aches with exhaustion.

Right before closing time, a young boy appears at the counter. He's in a hurry. He's panting, with sweat dripping down his face, as he places a basket filled with necessities in front of you. You offer him a friendly smile nonetheless, scanning his items and totalling up the final price.

"$20.43," you declare. He grimaces, rummaging through his pockets and counting up bills and coins in his palm. After a moment, he glances over his items, sighing.

"I'm... I'm sorry. Forget it." With trembling hands, he struggles to recollect his items and return them to the basket. You take a moment to help him, and as you do, you can't help but pity him; he's wearing an expression of pure defeat. Helplessness.

It's late, and there's no one around. It wouldn't hurt to help him out a little, right?