A Trip to the Market

I wake up.   I wanted to be up two hours ago but there was no point, just like there’s no point now. I pop 1/4 of a caffeine pill and lie down, enjoying the feeling of the drug racing through my veins.

I get up, shit, shave, teeth and prepare to hit the gym. I pull on the black gym shorts and say, Fuck This, No Gym.  Wearing the gym getup, I go to the supermarket instead.

The lot is crowded, I brake often to not run people over, people who move too slowly, like they have all the time in the world. Fuck off.

I park and head for one of the two entrances, located at either end of the building like human ears on a head. I walk past the scale and think Fuck It. If I’m too heavy I’ll be depressed and if I weigh OK, I’ll likely spend too much on crap and undo all my good work.

The market is very busy. Normally I’m here when the aisles have one or two other people, now they’re crowded with 4 or more. I make my way to the greens and find a box of Muscadine grapes. They are big for grapes, purple-to-black, fat and round. The store wants 5 bucks for a tiny box. I decide I’ll try them, what does a 5 dollar grape taste like? It better fucking rock.

Circling the produce I see a mother/daughter combo. The mother is my age or worse, frail, smallish. The daughter, whose face I never see, has long brown hair, t-shirt with school slogan.  Capping the tops of her shapely thick strong legs is an amazing white ass, not too round, not too big, with just the right amount of baby fat. In years to come that ass will slouch into larger and larger shorts, but today it’s perfection. I stay far away. Society sez, if you make less than 50K you talk only to the mother.

I get to the soda aisle. A strange woman is there, I see her from behind. Six foot and rising, white tanktop pulled over either a swimsuit or gymwear, long tanned legs, not the best but shapely. As she stretches like a crane for the top shelf, her tanned asscheeks slide upward out of the cradle of black shorts. She comes back down to earth with a bottle, turns and sees me.

Her face is pinched and unpretty, and right now, mean. It’s not the ciurcumstances that bother her, I guess, it’s the way I look.

I don’t know what I look like walking around, but if I had to make an accurate guess, you would see a never-smiling older man with dark hair, tense and unhappy, glide/walking with the disappointment of someone who just lost their ice cream cone to a gust of wind and has also been told he is to fight a giant in 20 minutes.

I guess a ladies’ man, so inclined, would’ve SMILED at the woman, said something about the weather and went from there. I pass soda lady and thankfully do not see any more fuckworthy tail, just fat black women and fat white women and asians and other assorted random jerkoffs, extras in the story of my life as I am background noise in theirs.  It’s noon in America and I feel…not good.

As I load up the bags a sweet voice says, “Finished with the cart?”
It’s a young girl in the supermarket’s costume, come to take the empty cart away.
“Yes, thank you.”
She takes the cart away to join other carts for their field trip back to the cool of the store.
As I pull away, I watch her. She’s dumpy, blonde, sweet, just out of high school if that.  We have nukes all over the country ready to launch, to protect her.   I feel sorry for her in a way only the old can pity the young.

I drive home, load the food, fire up the fake chicken nuggets made of mushroom meat, change the cat box, take a bite of powerful cannabis-laced granola bar and settle in. Fuck the grapes, they can wait.

There’s work tomorrow, at a nowhere job that pays well only in how much the higher-ups leave you the hell alone. I think of our fat-faced CEO, who looks developmentally-disabled.

At least I know the name of the prick I’m making rich.

Today is an understuffed pillow while I try to dream of a better world, a world that isn’t this one.



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