Radio R.
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“Thanks, Tyler, from the Night Shift”
I don’t usually write reviews, but tonight felt… different.
I stopped by the Jack in the Box around 1:30 a.m. You know the one — tucked behind the old gas station with the flickering light. The air was cold enough to sting, but the restaurant’s neon glow pulsed like a heartbeat in the fog.
The drive-thru speaker crackled, and a calm voice said, “Welcome to Jack in the Box. My name’s Tyler. You can take your time.”
There was something comforting about how he said it — slow, deliberate, like he’d been waiting just for me.
I ordered a Sourdough Jack, curly fries, and a Coke. Nothing fancy. But as I pulled up to the first window, I noticed something strange — the glass reflected the parking lot behind me perfectly, except… there were no cars. No me. No movement. Just the still neon bleeding into gray nothing.
Tyler wasn’t at the window at first. I could see the kitchen lights flicker through the narrow slit between fryer and counter. Then, softly, the window slid open.
He smiled.
He had that generic, tired fast-food smile — but his eyes were bright. Too bright. Like he hadn’t blinked in a long time. His name tag read TYLER ☺ — the smiley face was printed, not drawn.
“Sorry for the wait,” he said. But I hadn’t waited. The order was already in his hands. The fries were steaming, the burger perfectly wrapped, the Coke sweating cold in its cup.
I don’t remember paying.
I thanked him and drove off, but when I reached the light, I realized I could still see the restaurant in the mirror — even after turning the corner. It shouldn’t have been visible. The sign kept glowing through the fog, the letters bending, stretching into something else.
JACK IS BACK
No. It said TYLER IS BACK.
When I got home, I opened the bag.
The fries were still hot.
The burger still fresh.
But the receipt — the receipt just said one thing, printed in faint red ink:
> “COME BACK WHEN YOU’RE READY.”
“WE NEVER CLOSE.”
Thanks, Tyler. The food was great.
I’ll be seeing you soon.
