The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the vinyl booth where Leo shifted uncomfortably. His palms were slick against the laminated menu, the scent of stale grease clinging to the air. Across from him, Darren—manager of Burger Blitz—scanned Leo's application with a skeptical frown. "Says here you've got no prior work experience."
Leo forced a smile. "I'm a quick learner."
Darren tapped the paper. "Burger Blitz isn't glamorous. It's grease burns and rude customers." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But I looked you up online, kid. Saw some... *interesting* videos." Leo's stomach dropped. He hadn't listed his stage name anywhere. Darren's eyes flickered with predatory amusement. "You're 'Leo Lust,' right? That scene with the pool boy went viral in our break room."
Leo's knuckles whitened around the menu edge. The fluorescent buzz suddenly felt like a swarm in his ears. He should walk out. But rent was due Friday. "That's... unrelated to flipping burgers," he managed, voice tight.
Darren chuckled, a low, greasy sound. "Oh, I think it's *very* related." He slid the application aside, leaning conspiratorially across the chipped Formica. "See, our late-night crowd gets rowdy. Drunk college kids, mostly. Tips are shit." His gaze lingered on Leo's throat. "But a guy like you... you know how to hold attention. How to make people *want* to spend." He tapped a finger beside Leo's trembling hand. "Work the counter from 10 p.m. to 4 a.m. Wear the uniform... but unbuttoned. Just a little. And flirt. Hard."
Leo's breath hitched. The vinyl seat felt suddenly sticky, trapping him. "Flirt?" The word tasted like bile. He'd left that life behind – the performative smiles, the hollow exchanges. He'd wanted something clean. Mundane. Real. Just for his late mom.
Darren's smile widened, revealing a sliver of yellowed teeth. "Yeah. Flirt. Smile pretty, lean over the counter nice and slow. Make 'em blush when you hand 'em their soggy fries." He mimed the motion, his thick fingers lingering suggestively in the air. "Drunk kids tip big when they're flustered. Especially for someone they've seen... *perform*." He emphasized the last word, letting it hang like the smell of old oil. "Think of it as... customer service with benefits."
Leo's throat tightened. He could feel the cheap polyester of the uniform shirt—still folded beside Darren—itching against his skin already. "And if I say no?" The question came out thin, brittle.
Darren shrugged, a slow, deliberate motion. "Then I've got three other applications on my desk. Kids who *haven't* starred in niche adult films." He picked up a plastic coffee stirrer, snapping it cleanly in half. "Rent's due soon, ain't it? Saw your address. That building's got eviction notices plastered like wallpaper." He dropped the broken pieces onto Leo's application. "Midnight shift starts tomorrow. Be here at 9:45. Sharp."
Leo walked out into the damp alleyway air, the smell of stale fryer grease clinging to his clothes already. He didn't remember the bus ride home. Just the crushing weight of the polyester uniform shirt clutched in his fist, the cheap fabric scratching his palm like sandpaper.
***
The fluorescent lights buzzed louder than the fryers at midnight. Leo stood frozen behind the counter, the stiff polyester uniform shirt scratching his neck where he'd reluctantly unbuttoned it halfway down his chest. The smell of cheap disinfectant couldn't mask the stale grease clinging to everything. His first customer, a bleary-eyed college kid reeking of cheap beer, stared openly, recognition dawning slowly. "Holy shit," the kid slurred, leaning heavily on the counter. "You're... you're Leo Lust! From that one video with the—" He made a crude gesture. Leo's forced smile felt like cracked plaster. He shoved a tray of lukewarm fries across the counter. "That'll be $4.75." The kid fumbled with his wallet, dropping bills, his eyes never leaving Leo's exposed skin. "Can I get a picture? My buddies won't believe—" Leo shook his head sharply, the movement jerky. "Just the fries." He shoved the change back harder than necessary. The kid's leer lingered as he stumbled away, shouting something obscene to his friends outside. The fluorescent hum drilled into Leo's skull.
The next hour blurred into a parade of leering faces and sticky fingers "accidentally" brushing his hand. Each encounter felt like sandpaper scraping raw skin. He served burgers mechanically, his voice flat, eyes fixed on the grimy countertop. A group of frat boys clustered near the milkshake machine, their laughter sharp and mocking. "Hey, Leo!" one yelled, waving his phone. "How much extra for a private show?" Their guffaws echoed in the cramped space. Leo's knuckles tightened around the metal scoop he was using for ice, the cold biting into his palm. He didn't look up. He just shoved another overflowing tray of chili cheese fries toward the pickup counter, the fluorescent light glinting off the greasy orange sludge.
Closing shift crawled by. He scrubbed fryer baskets until his hands burned, the harsh chemical cleaner biting at his nostrils. Darren watched from the office doorway, a silent, greasy shadow. Leo kept his head down, ignoring the lingering stares of the last stragglers. Finally, the neon "Burger Blitz" sign flickered off. He shoved the stiff uniform shirt into his backpack, pulling his own worn hoodie tight around his throat. The alley behind the restaurant was pitch black, smelling of damp concrete and overflowing dumpsters. He walked fast, shoulders hunched, footsteps echoing too loudly. He just wanted to get home, scrub the stench of grease and desperation off his skin.