Snippet #856485

The next morning, Simon walked into work, acutely aware that he was exactly two minutes late. He ducked behind the counter to grab an apron, throwing it on with a sloppy air of discontent. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans - if Coffee of Doom had a dress code, he neither knew about it or cared.

"Morning Alex. Who killed themselves today?" Everyone who worked at Coffee of Doom or came in often knew about the celebrity suicide pool. It was a morbid tradition that was inherent to the shop itself. The first thing these people usually learned is that Alex almost always won. Almost. Simon had never been one to test his luck with it, so he played the part of passive observer. His precious paycheck wasn't worth losing in a game.