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A grocery store. A woman in a motorized shopping cart.

What’s that? (I can’t get this thing to turn. Why do I go shopping by myself. Why don’t I have children. Why is it that Agnes couldn’t walk ten minutes out of her way to meet me at the Harris Teeter to grab a basket full of groceries. I’m stuck. Fuck. God, get me out of this elevator and I’ll believe in you.)
Be careful, I’m right behind you.
What are you doing?
Selling wine.
Oh. (I don’t know why grocery stores have wine tastings. I have never enjoyed a bottle of Continue reading Help