She knew better than to turn her head; her focus was on her work, even when she sensed – smelled – the sweatshop’s owner breathing on her neck. ...She’d become on of his favorites lately, a designation she could well do without, but dared not mention aloud. Sam, the owner, was a fat, balding man with dark sweat marks staining his shirt. Secretly, Joyce wondered when he’d last bathed; he always stank, and whenever he used her mouth, it was all she could do to keep from gagging at the rancid. Even still, upon seeing me, as if I was the one in the wrong, Carson immediately snapped to attention and started waving me off. “Yo, shut the fucking door! Shut the door!” he repeated, using a hand to swat away at me from afar. “Babe, just stay where you are.” he told Molly. Molly froze, not daring to look forward, and in that moment, I realized how lucky I was that she wasn’t looking at me. If she saw me, saw what I was doing, she wouldn’t forgive me for still keeping this up. Carson wasn’t. More

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