A Completely Ordinary Grocery Run
My trip to the supermarket started out just like any other. I was focused on getting the week’s meals sorted, weaving through the aisles and loading up my basket. At the self-checkout, the machines spat out their usual stream of tiny paper slips—those fluttery receipts that make you feel oddly accomplished for surviving the harsh fluorescent lights.
With eggs in one hand, bread in the other, and a tote bag already stuffed full, I was carefully trying not to squish anything. Just as I shifted my weight and prepared to leave, I felt someone lightly tap my elbow.