Sad Singles Shopping Hour

created Friday, August 5th, 2005 9:45:30pm

At this time of night the grocery is haunted by people just like me.  
Furtive basket-carriers averting their eyes with the shame of too-few 
items (guaranteed express), too-few mouths to feed.  Among them I feel 
at once awkward and at home, humbled by the mailman's bashful smile of 
recognition, wondering if his home holds for him the same pitiable 
comforts as mine.  A cat.  A bowl.  An American Flatbread.  The barest 
necessities of a barren existence; shared but separate; together and 
alone.

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