Angel sucks the neon pink straw sticking out of the quarter sized hole in the plastic dome drink shield fastened onto the rim of the clear Slurpee cup in her left hand while she hunched over and pushed the barren grocery cart down the long aisle, list in the right hand. She was the only occupant in the row, so she had no hesitation in taking her lips off the straw and smacking them loudly twice; her face grimacing at the parfait of colors in the frozen concoction. She set the drink down in the basket with a “Yeech”, her tongue assaulted with sugar. She folded the pink muscle and scrubbed against its taste buds, thinking how she could feel herself getting diabetes.
She stood up straight and looked at the list she had written in blue and the pink editing marks Demonica had added. The first thing on the list was cereal, “Pink O’s” written in parentheses next to it. She began looking, slowly pushing the cart.
Hmmm… …
Lessee…
…
Fruit Brute, no…
…
MarsHellows, no…
…
Yummy Mummy, no…
…
Boo Berry, hmmm…
She stopped and thought about it. It wasn’t on the list but she made an exception and tossed it in the cart.
Count Chocula, no…
…
FrankenBerry, no…
…
Chex Hex, no…
…
Pink O’s, there we go! In the cart it went.
After exiting that aisle, she crossed in to the next, the snack aisle. Even though she felt junk food was the last thing she needed, she swept up the aisle, picking up Peanut Butter Snaps, Puffy Cheetos, and Tortilla Chips.
Out the corner of her eye, she saw a small framed, dark featured woman with oversized retro styled sunglasses resting on the bridge of her sharp nose, clutching a bag of Doritos to her chest, as if fending away thieves and walking speedily past Angel in the other direction.
She left that aisle and walked past three others before going into another and noticed another person in it, a man. She couldn’t see much of him, being his small back was turned towards her, though she did hear a whispered steady flow of quick speech. If he became aware of her presence, he didn’t let it be known, his furious mutterings directed at the nutrition panel on a jug of cran-grape juice.
Angel acts like she’s looking at cans of apple ginger ale while she passes him and, without moving too fast to draw attention to herself, she grabs a Drinky-Drink Variety Pack off the shelf and throws it in the cart, high-tailing it out of the confined space. By the time she reaches the clearing between the rows of aisles, she can hear the cran-grape guy sobbing loudly and uncontrollable and feels a pang of sadness at the man’s pain. Still, she presses on.
She makes her way towards the fruits and vegetables, passing two red-eyed, skunked teenage boys that are enduring fits of hysterical giggles brought on by the banner above the meat counter that boasts its product to be HIGH in protein and iron. The oblivious, pit bull bodied butcher at the chopping block behind the counter continues slicing cold cuts in to thin slices that would go great with thick slices of tomatoes and crisp lettuce between an Italian roll.
With that thought, Angel realizes she hasn’t eaten anything all day besides that putrid slush, making her want to get out of here as soon as possible.
But not without picking up some of that turkey from the deli, of course.
She turns on her heel, back toward the butcher and the two boys.
The boys laugh harder at that, then one chimes:
After purchasing some turkey from the meat monger, she heads on over to the produce aisle. On her way, she passes a man in a bath robe, flip flops, shades and chestnut shoulder-length hair smelling an opened milk carton. She unrolls a bag from the dispenser, splitting the opening and pulls it down sharply, filling it with air and begins shoving in some assorted fruits and vegetables. She was in the middle of testing a tomato for firmness when, for some reason she looks up. Across from her, with displays of limes, lemons, pomegranates, and apricots between them, stands a tall and sinewy, olive skinned man wearing a feathered auburn wig, pink eye-shadow, rouge, heavy eyeliner, and rich burgundy lipstick fitting two cantaloupes into the chest of his yellow halter top, ballooning from an A to a Double D cup size.
Sated with his new “endowments”, he zips up his leather jacket to the breasts and looks up. His eyes lock with Angel’s and time seemed to halt momentarily. Dumbstruck by this situation, our heroine simply gives a nervous smile and waves coyly at the shoplifting transvestite. He gives a bright, confident smile and blows her a kiss and winks. Angel turns her head, chuckling at this and pushes her cart for the check-out.