#christopher 002.

This storm has been nothing but a giant pile of shit on Reina’s night, and as much as she’s been trying not to panic and keep her usual cool, it seems like it’s getting worse by the minute. At about 6:30 they stopped seating people and by now the place has cleared out, her staff is on their way home but Chris, God love him, is still on his hands and knees fixing her generator despite the chaos. “The storm’s getting pretty bad, you don’t have to keep working on that if you’re getting nowhere. We won’t need it tonight anyway.” Reina tries not to sound bitter as she says it, but the absence of customers means money that isn’t going into her pocket, and that’s enough to fill her with irritation. The lights keep flickering on and off, consistently for a few minutes until the inevitable happens — the power goes out and the two of them are immersed in complete darkness. “Fucking Christ,” she sneers, fingers going to her temples as she tries to rub out her stress headache that’s developed at a rapid pace over the course of this shit show of a night. Her phone’s almost dead and she’s not about to waste what’s left of the batter just so she can see. “Tell me you’ve got a flashlight in that toolbox.”