Check Out

They stand in line at the check out; she in front, him behind her. She looked at him slightly, he looked to her hand to see if she was married. She wore gloves. It is February, one week and one day before Valentine's Day. She buys three patterned balls, decorative balls that you arrange in a bowl on a table, and a 24 pack of double roll toilet paper. He has sweat pants, a large bottle of Sunlight laundry detergent, a bottle of Pepsi and a notebook. He'd only come in to buy the notebook. The pants and the laundry detergent were on sales, a good deal.

The line is long. It is the express line. A computer generated voice rhythmically intones, " Please go to check out 1, Please go to check out 3". They shuffle like cattle to the slaughterhouse. His eyes scan the nape of her neck, he is drawn to the fine blond hair on it. It reminded him of a lover from his past, he couldn't remember which one, not that there were that many to remember.

She looked over the displayed items along the line, thought that sh'd forgotten to get something, couldn't recall what it was, and picked up some gum, then decided against it and returned it to the shelf. She wondered to herself why she'd forgotten to take her gloves off. Her hands felt damp within them.

Postcards

She sends me postcards of Northern Lights. She always sends me postcards of Northern lights. I tack them to the wall next to the refrigerator in no particular order.

Spent the afternoon in the Regal Hotel. The air stinks of old beer and old men. Italy and Germany play soccer on the TV. no one pays attention. Domestic beer costs $3.75, Cognac costs $4.35. This information is supplied by a tarnished sign tacked on the wall over the pool table. No one, to any one's recollection, has ever ordered a Cognac in the Regal Hotel.