Forever off-white tiles that never
be anything else by the color of pale *****
daily bleached floors cover up the smell
of what is otherwise known as decay

the man behind the counter
has a weak smile and a dying heart
his eyes drain of color each day
there was fire in his blood
but the righteous flame has grown cold

you pay for the fuel and snack food
he tells you to "Have a nice day"
even though it seems like
he's the one who could use one
but all you can say is a mild "Thanks"
then move on