by Allen Taylor
I only wanted that sense of humanity that seemed intrinsic. I’ve wanted it since I crawled out from under the toadstool that served as my shelter those initial days of my life.
That’s why I roamed the aisles of the local supermarket looking for feelings.
“Excuse me, miss,” I stopped a lady with a store badge on her chest. She was an older lady, somewhat withered, bearing a nice smile for a woman with no teeth. “Can you point me to where you shelve your feelings?”
“Oh, why certainly young man.”
It’s always intrigued me that old ladies address young men as “young man” during normal conversation. But she proceeded to deliver on her promise.
“Two aisles over that way. Near the chili.”
I made haste to get to the chili aisle with my baby sister in tow. She’s not really a baby. At nineteen…
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