R72

I enter the store to buy something for dinner. I was bouncing between rotting tropical fruit too pricey for anyone to buy and plastic looking bell pepper that seemed like it will never rot. Someone's wife talks on the cell phone blocking the fridge door. She is idly picking through frozen ravioli bags. I wait for her to decide and pick. With cheese? With ham? Quarter of kilo? Half of kilo? She never stops talking on the phone. Smiles shyly and moves aside when she spots me waiting patiently for my turn to pick through the frozen bags. I move to cheese and delicacies department. Somoene's sister picks hundred grams of this and hundred and twenty grams of that. She wants cheese, too. Curly man in late twenties has no patience and leaves the queue. It's my turn. I want a piece of salami. Petite woman with green eyes and dark hair too wild to be tamed by her white hat brings me my piece of salami. I thought she will just give me the chunk, but she approaches the slicer and wrestles with the machine. I start realizing that she is going to make each slice as thin as possible. While she is facing away I remind myself to smile at her. I receieve neatly packed slices and thank her from the bottom of my heart. Her eyes are tired. She is shy to smile back. Her skin is very dry. Her smile is brighter when she sees I mean it.

I want to cry.