I was at a grocery store with Jim, and we were drinking beer out of coffee cups and wandering around watching petty spectacles. I noticed in the corner of my eye a woman walking around desperately trying to write checks, petition Western Union, and grab at ATMs while her small child danced around her, goofing off. I noticed a man fling a sprig of greens at another man, staining his shirt with water. A man walks by a counter filled with cottage cheese and throws a package of hot dogs onto it. An insane woman harasses a produce cutter for a zucchini. "Let's get the hell out of here and go watch football." "Let's get some beer first." As we are selecting our beer, I mutter the word "INK." As we walk past the comedic child and the mother going through withdrawals, she rips in half a pen and tries to throw the ink on her son's face. "JUMP," I mutter, and the kid jumps out of the way. The ink splashes onto the floor, and the mother grabs her child and rushes out, as broke and sick as she was when she stormed in. We paid for our case and left.
I'm sorry kid.
