She reached for the top shelf in the canned soup aisle. He watched her stringy dye job sway over her shoulders.
Completely enamoured inside her purple tank top and lower back tattoo, as her flip flops descended onto the dirty, white tiled floor. He heard the loud smack of a party down by the old brown barn. Full of a sort of vitality she kissed him. No one expected what he'd do next, he drove off in his dad's old red jeep. He laid on his back the rest of that night perplexed by the embarrassment of the situation.
Now she stood here in the melancholy aura of the local grocery store reaching for campbell's tomato soup.
He furtively moved to the next aisle and tricked himself into looking for canned tuna in oil but was still bewildered by the presence that walked just beyond the bags of pasta and rice.
Maybe he should say "hi?"
He didn't want to startle her and so grabbed a box of white rice and started to walk to the front.
His inquisitive spirit baited him to look down each aisle as he went. She had left the soup aisle and now had been lost to fate in the store once again.
Then the clatter of two bodies knocking together echoed through the store and at once he was looking up at the white, void tile ceiling. White rice swam beside him as it tumbled out of his box.
Something bumped his arm, a can of tomato soup. He sat up to see her purple tank top.
