From "Abandoned" a story in "Distortions: A Collection of Short Stories" by Trevor White

Despite a dreamless sleep his mind is scrambled, and it takes him a moment to realize his position in relation to the rest of the world. Once oriented, he rolls over and looks at the watch aside his bed. 7:00, glow the soft blue digits. Aware of the time, he moves to the second order of the day: Travis, he thinks, my name is Travis Jonathan Nelson.

Slowly he lifts the blanket and rises from bed. His joints, facing gravity for the first time today, pop as he stands and stretches. Clad in jeans, a shirt and hoodie, and thinning socks, he walks the cool linoleum around the bend and enters the foyer.

Here, angular girders crisscross a soaring ceiling dotted with air vents and the Mylar balloons of careless children. Sixteen aisles stretch eastward, and westward, half as many checkouts, dual automatic sliding doors, and an enormous sign on the building’s front that he does not have to see to read. Superway, it glows into the empty darkness outside. This is his home, and his alone.