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.

“Fine, if you wanna act like tha’ shit neva’ happened, fine! If you think tha’ goddamn sonuvawhore fuckin’ cocksucker’s gonna marry you, ya hick bitch cone pone slut, just fuckin’ fine!”

She 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.

The weather is nervously sympathectic, with pangs of causeless guilt. We advise you ignore and proceed hurriedly to your next stop.

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. He turns finally, addresses the pair, eyebrow arched.

“You fellas thinking about buying some meat?”

The boys laugh harder at that, then one chimes: “I’m going to buy some meat. I’m thinking about punanni!”

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. He smells like aftershave and another scent she can’t place. He looks pudgy and soft.

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, alabaster-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 Dylan’s; he halts momentarily. Dumbstruck by this situation, she simply gives a nervous smile at the shoplifting transvestite. He gives a bright, confident smile and winks. He’s beautiful.

He turns and walks, leaving Dylan in a trance. Her eyes follow him out of the aisle, and then blink. She pushes her cart toward the check-out