The Physics of the Fryer
The neon sign of "Burger-World" flickered with a dying buzz, casting a sickly yellow light over the grease-slicked tiles of the kitchen. Leo was eighteen, wore a polyester uniform that smelled of old oil, and spent his days flipping patties for people who didn't know his name. Beside him was Arthur, the night-shift manager. Arthur was sixty, had a liver that was failing faster than the...
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