Tuesday, September 1st, 2020

I stand behind three teenage girls in the fast lane at the supermarket. Each wears a gauzy white shirt, cut-off denim shorts, and a black mask with a logo that I don’t recognize. They lounge against a shopping cart taking group selfies. The cart only has a couple of items in it. After a while, a man in a turban comes up to them, takes the items from the cart, and checks out. Two of the girls climb into the cart. The third pushes them down the pasta aisle. I check out next. The cashier has long, abstractly painted nails. She has trouble gripping change. Downtown, there’s a small dance party at the front of the square. A dozen women in wheelchairs surround several younger women, possibly their caregivers, who sway to the music from someone’s phone. At the cafe, I only want to get a simple salad. The ones on the menu are too complicated. I decide to get a sandwich. Those come with fairly large salads and are less expensive. I pick the salmon sandwich. It’s good. But it’s the one sandwich that doesn’t come with a salad. When I get home, I munch on a green pepper and listen to an album that a friend just turned me on to. It’s as good as I had hoped. The site has its monthly sale this Friday. The album’s on my list.