Sta.sh
i was at the supermarket to distract myself from eating.
the air smelled plasticky. i dont know why froot loops cost more than plain cornflakes. or honey stars, my favourite. does rainbow colouring cost more? it makes me sad. some kind of thin, spiderweb-tearing sadness that i'd forget in ten minutes.
the cashier looked at me strangely. i was the only one in the store after lunchtime, and it was the business part of town where no one ventured out except during lunch. save for hassled secretaries on a coffee run, and they wouldnt be at the supermarket. she saw me walk in an hour ago and watched me as i passed her counter with empty hands.
maybe she thought i was a shoplifter. i wasnt, not for the past two years at least.
i wanted to ask her if she knew about the froot loops. i wanted to ask what kind of cereal she bought for her kids. she had limp hair, dark roots showing, a elastic bracelet of semi-precious stones on her wrist. lipstick traces. i decided that she probably didnt buy cereal anyway. she'd be the kind to send her child to school with a red-bean paste bun for breakfast.
my pony's squeaked sharply on the lino. my eyes darted from the magazine rack to the cashier's face. she was waiting for the late night employee discount at the bakery stand. i was just another customer.
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We went out for dinner at town last week and have subsequent plans to go clubbing/night-cycling (random activities I know!). 
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