His cheap cologne invades my nostrils.  His warm breath creeps down my neck.  The room seems to daken; it's jut me and him.

His sweaty palm presses on my shoulder, he says, "Wow, you look good tonight!"

I look down and see my flour covere shorts and shirt.  I mumble a thanks.

My heart is pounding.  I wish he would leave. But no, he's the manager, he gets to make the schedule, and I always work closing, on the inside, alone when he's working.  There is others working, of course, but they run in and out, delivering pizzas.

"What are you doing after work"" he inquires.

"Umm, I'm going out with some friends." I utter.

"Oh, thats to bad, I was hoping you would stay a bit, you know help me with some paperwork, and maybe afterward, we could get a bite to...