Aisle
Sam Barlow
cover art easy experimental literary male protagonist mild profanity no score one move one-move parser puzzleless Replayable scoreless short single command single room strong profanity supermarket unstable truth very brief walkthrough Xyzzy Awards 1999 XYZZY Best Use of Medium
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly. On to the next aisle... Aisle started out as a game which would not need the usual meta-verbs... i. e. a game with only one turn. The initial idea was: How do I make a game with only one turn interesting? Give it lots of endings--in fact there are many 'endings' and (hopefully) every sensible action results in an 'ending'. There is no winning action. There is however more going on than just this and the more endings you see the more things should become clear.
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storie
About yourself
You don't need a mirror to know what you look like. Old. "Old beyond your years", as they say. Old. Old and lonely. You look lonely--you are lonely. You are well dressed but people think you are a tramp. You feel like a tramp. Ever since Clare left you... without word... in Rome.

You leave your trolley and walk to the exit. Then drive home.

The end of the story. The end of a story. But not
the only story...
You look at the trolley
(your trolley)
The trolley is a small cage of steel with bent rubber wheels. Full of your shopping: meals for one, drinks for one (well, drinks for several, but hey, who's counting?).

Gnocchi for one wouldn't really work. You settle for
spaghetti and continue on to the next aisle.

The end of another story. But then, there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You eat the gnocchi
You rip open the packet and take out a few Gnocchi, cramming them into your mouth. The uncooked, floury balls clog in your throat and you swallow them down, hard.

The brunette glances at you and moves on quickly.

You feel stupid, slip the opened bag back into the shelf and carry on. It's never been as good as it was in Rome.

Another story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the rome
Rome.

You pick up the Gnocchi and stare at the illustration of Piazza Venezia on its packet. You remember; sun, heat, food, pasta, sauces, wine, love, ancient, modern, Italians, Americans, love. And ultimately pain. A pain you had thought you had forgotten. But like a cancer returning to wreak havoc again, the pain resurfaces and tears through the thin barriers you had erected. Tears flow. Memories; guilt. And finally acceptance. You live with it.

One more story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You ask the woman about the sauces
You walk over. "Hi. You trying to choose a sauce?" She looks at you and pauses, "Um. Yeah I'm just looking." You reach down a random jar and pass it to her, "This is a great sauce." She smiles politely, "Thanks," and quickly moves on to the next aisle.

You feel a bit stupid. Why is it that none of them understand you like she did?

Another story done. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You kill woman
You run over to her and throw a punch which knocks her into the shelves. Jars fall and splatter grainy red sauces across the aisle. Shit. You run out--out to the car and drive--drive home. When you park up, you find that you are holding the gnocchi from the supermarket.

What was it about the gnocchi? You can't remember (I don't think you want to remember). You feel ashamed, stupid and old.

One more story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember Gnocchi
You focus on the gnocchi and whilst the little, floury balls remain the same everything else changes. There is a flush of noise in your ears, the cold air pushed away by the warmth from table-top candles. A friendly waiter approaches, "Gnocchi for two?" His English is correct but with a European slant. You nod. "Prego," you volunteer as he lays the plate before you. Clare Prego's too as he presents her plate. He asks if you would like a bottle of wine. "Uno vino rose," you reply in half-Italian. He scurries away, whilst a smaller waiter hurries to you and puts a basket of bread and bread sticks on the table. "Prego," he nods as he backs away into the busy restaurant. You take a fork and spear a bud of gnocchi, dunking it in the sauce. As you draw it up to your mouth your eyes level with Clare's.

You shake your head and are back in the supermarket.

Hmmm. Maybe there was something more important than gnocchi? But it's gone now. You take a couple of packets and pile them into the trolley. Then with a push of the wrists you move the trolley onwards.

Another story over. Not the only one...
Xyzzy
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Xyzzy
real. You've come too far to go back.
You check your inventory
Taking everything from your pockets you crouch down and line up your possessions on the floor:

Wallet: coins, bank card, store card, bookclub card, photo--

Each object, representing something else, is like a word. The inventory-sentence ends and begins with that photo. An attempt to possess Clare in her image, to hold her and to contain her. You rearrange the coins in a circle around the photo, a makeshift frame.
A photo of Clare. If only you could lose those first few
words: Clare. Then you could hold Clare, possess Clare. She would be yours...

With a furtive glance you scoop up your things and return them to your pockets.

The photo burns a hole in your pocket, through your heart and to the centre of your universe.

Another story done. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You examine the coins
Sorry. You can't use your possessions directly.
You forget Clare
Forget it. Easy to say. Not as easy to do. Like cleaning shit
from your shoes it's a nasty business but, eventually, it's gone. Like a weight off your shoulders, a clean slate, etc. You feel much better. Can't even remember what it was that was bothering you. Shopping--now that you do remember.

The squeak of the rubber wheels as you push off and continue shopping, that's all you remember.

One more story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Punch gnocchi
The Gnocchi reminds you of Rome. Of Clare. All long in the past and a past not to be revisited. You punch the Gnocchi and push the trolley on its way, narrowly avoiding the brunette as you briskly move on to the next aisle and the next..

Another story done. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Hit the woman with Gnocchi
You pick up a packet of the gnocchi and watch it trail through the air, bouncing awkwardly off the brunette. Caught unawares, she drops the jar she is holding which shatters on the floor, leaving a puddle of grainy red. She stares, red-faced, in disbelief. You hear the soft crunch of leather boots behind you and turn to face a middle-aged security guard. You feint to the left then run to the right, out of the exit and to your car. As you pull away with a badly clutched roar, you shout out of the window "She had it coming--bitch!"

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You throw the sauce at the woman
Something about the way she stands pisses you off; she is so insolent. The gnocchi whispers in your ear, "Remember what happened last time? Prevention is always better than cure." You walk up and take a jar from the shelf. The brunette ignores you. You throw the jar.

It glances off her with a glass-bone-skin sort of crack, and she falls to the floor limply. You look over her; sauce runs down her face. No; not just sauce--a thin stream of blood is entwined in the onion and tomato. You start to run towards the exit, but just before you get there you feel the air knocked out of you as a heavy thump knocks you from the side and you are tackled to the ground.

This time the judge rules in society's best interest rather than in yours.

A story finished. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember Clare
Clare.

You stare at the Gnocchi and it opens up to you; years ago, a holiday to Rome (a romantic holiday). Two lovers (young)--yourself and Clare. Culture, food, sun. Then something happened. And Clare was
gone.

You had thought it best not to remember but perhaps remembering is good.

You forget the shopping and go home, to think.

One more story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Say something, dammit.
You remember brunette
Clare.

You stare at the Gnocchi and it opens up to you; years ago, a holiday to Rome (a romantic holiday). Two lovers (young)--yourself and Clare. Culture, food, sun. Then something happened. And Clare was
gone.

You had thought it best not to remember but perhaps remembering is good.

You forget the shopping and go home, to think.

Another story done. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You ask the woman about the name
Tall, slim. Dark haired. You walk up to her and introduce yourself. Then you continue, "Now I'm at a disadvantage--you know my name, but I don't know yours..." She smiles, "I'm Clare" (she doesn't say whether it's with an 'i' or not, we'll just assume). In a whipcrack chain of rather bizarre events, you end up in the supermarket cafe surrounded by a pile of shopping bags. You sit across the tiny table from each other, sipping on your coffee and chatting. Even more bizarre is the fact that you get on. Fabulously.

She leaves her bags in her car, storing the frozen stuff in your freezer. In the morning you lend her a shirt... All these domestic touches can only bode well for the future.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You buy the macaroni
Nope; Gnocchi is not on the list. You grab some macaroni and move on. The brunette glances up as you wheel by.

Another story done. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You steal sauces
No. You don't want to steal anything.
You ask the woman about Clare
"Excuse me." The brunette turns, gives you a nod. You explain, briefly, the story of you and Clare. Amazingly, she listens. When you finish you ask "Where did I go wrong?"

She looks apologetic, "I'm sorry, I can't answer that. But it doesn't sound like anyone was to blame. Sometimes people just grow apart..." "Thanks." You walk away.

That's the answer you were looking for. If only you had told her the real story.

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You tell the woman about the murder
You scurry up to the brunette. "Excuse me--I probably ought to tell you this, now rather than later", she looks confused and you continue, "but I am a murderer. All very complicated complicated stuff--but basically I killed my girlfriend (my lover) and well I am over it now so there is no problem there but like I said just thought I would say.."

With that off your chest you continue on your shop.

Another story done. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You tell woman about Gnocchi
You pick up the gnocchi and walk over to the brunette. "Look... gnocchi!" She looks bemused, a little embarrassed. "We had gnocchi on our last night together." She smiles, blushing, and moves her trolley to the next aisle.

Perhaps you were too forward. Perhaps you missed your chance all those years ago. It is all so difficult.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Kiss woman
You walk briskly up to the brunette. As you lean over her she turns and gives a puzzled look. You force your mouth onto hers and reach out hotly for her. She pushes you off--you slip to the floor and she runs to the checkouts. A bulky security man pulls you to your feet and escorts you from the store.

Falling to the pavement outside, you stop yourself with outstretched hand, landing near a dirty puddle left by the recent rain. Your old old face stares up at you--how long was it since you kissed those lips? How long since you kissed? Too long? Too late.

One more story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You climb the shelves
You stare at the Gnocchi. You remember the Trevi Fountain in Rome. How you and Clare sat and bathed your feet in it on the first day. And how you would continually lose yourselves trying to find some other monument, only to turn a corner and be back at the fountain
again.

You remember the day after Clare had gone, you returned to the fountain. Drunk, you climbed the fountain and screamed. The police pulled you down and sobered you up.

Grabbing onto the shelves you hitch yourself up, setting off a mini-avalanche of pasta. Upon reaching the top of the shelves you can see the whole store. People stare at you. They think it's you
that is mad. Fuckers.

A story finished. Then again...
You remember the murder
The one thing you didn't want to remember. A bloody smile
drawn across the aisle, Gnocchi for teeth--punch them all out--A red, red smile--brighter than any lipstick--but wait--she speaks. No; she does not. The smile drips, runs into the carpet and blushes into a crimson flower. Purple bruises. Colourful scene don't you think? Of course it's all in the past now. And they said you were over it.

A bright red smile opens and devours you whole. Everything goes black.

One more story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Sing
Sing a sad song... You start off singing softly to yourself; what must appear to be but a mumble to the other shoppers. But then you slowly get louder and louder until everyone in the shop is glancing nervously at you. It seems the more you sing the more uncomfortable everyone gets. You stop, chuckle. Then continue with your shopping; the aisles seem more empty somehow.

Another story done. Then again...
You remember the smile
The one thing you didn't want to remember. A bloody smile
drawn across the aisle, Gnocchi for teeth--punch them all out--A red, red smile--brighter than any lipstick--but wait--she speaks. No; she does not. The smile drips, runs into the carpet and blushes into a crimson flower. Purple bruises. Colourful scene don't you think? Of course it's all in the past now. And they said you were over it.

A bright red smile opens and devours you whole. Everything goes black.

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Laugh
You allow yourself a laugh--memories of holiday float up and tickle your cheeks. The two guitarists singing in pigeon-English by your table as you finished off your gnocchi. Clare thought they were quite good. But, for you, they were too close to embarrassing. And the bric-a-brac sellers with their lighters (naked statues--you push the nipple to light up) and brass colloseums. Not like in the films, really--but then real romance often isn't, right? I mean, there was the evening when you ate on the street where they filmed the Dolce Vita. You spent the meal being distracted by a beggar who was doing a mime-swim across the pavement. Real romance makes you laugh.

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You kill the trolley
(your trolley)
You look into the trolley; meals for one, toiletries for one--everything for one. You kick out at the trolley and push
it to the side. Turning on a heel you head out into the night.

Another story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You get in your trolley
Remember when you would sit in the front of the trolley and your mum would push you around. You'd drag bright packages off the shelves and cause havoc. But she still loved you. You didn't even do anything wrong with Clare.

You climb into the trolley and sit down, your shopping crunching beneath you. You push off against the shelves and roll a little way. But then the trolley shakes and turns onto its side. The shopping falls over you and fuck your leg really hurts. You stumble to
your feet and curse, limping out of the store into the night.

One more story over. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You put the woman in trolley
(your trolley)
You need to be holding the brunette before you can put her into something else.
You take the woman
You walk briskly up to the brunette. As you lean over her she turns and gives a puzzled look. You force your mouth onto hers and reach out hotly for her. She pushes you off--you slip to the floor and she runs to the checkouts. A bulky security man pulls you to your feet and escorts you from the store.

Falling to the pavement outside, you stop yourself with outstretched hand, landing near a dirty puddle left by the recent rain. Your old old face stares up at you--how long was it since you kissed those lips? How long since you kissed? Too long? Too late.

One more story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You kill the macaroni
Maybe if you had ordered macaroni rather than gnocchi on that last night she wouldn't have left you. But you couldn't have helped that, really. I mean, you don't even like macaroni. So it's not your fault. If you don't like macaroni she couldn't have expected you to order it. So who's fault is it? Not hers--you both agreed it was no one's fault; people fall out of love. No, not anyone's fault. Something's fault. Pasta. How stupid does that sound? The macaroni's fault.
Stupid but true.

You rake a shelf of the bags onto the floor; long packets of spaghetti, small papery bags of macaroni, big sacks of penne. As they hit the floor you stamp. The bags split like bruised fruit and
spill their contents across the floor. The shells hop and skid as you crack and squash them under your feet. The brunette turns, a worried glance back, and then scurries on. You kick a few stray bows after her, scattering nearby twirls.

Inevitably the guards appear. You let them take you, explaining that you aren't mad--you can imagine a lot of men in your position would be, but you are quite sane. You've never done this kind of thing before. You really are sorry. You'll pay for the cost, and the mess. If it helps you'll apologise to the brunette. Wait... they're not listening.

You end up speaking to a balding man who is really very intellectual--you know the sort--and he agrees, you are very sane. He agrees, love is a dangerous thing. It burns just as many as it warms. He agrees. Tired of his stating the obvious, you stop listening.

One more story over. And yet...
You jump
Staring at the gnocchi you feel a memory slowly, awkwardly, awfully rise to the surface.

--The scooter driver looks surprised. You grab for Clare and jump to the side--bounce across the road, scrape your head--

Scuffed and light headed you open your eyes... your hands are empty--Clare is a few metres away, lying awkwardly. Splattered with a thin red liquid, reflecting the scooter's bright red paintwork.

The scooter skids--you jump. You are in the supermarket. Your hands are empty, sweaty.

Another story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You kill the macaroni
Maybe if you had ordered macaroni rather than gnocchi on that last night she wouldn't have left you. But you couldn't have helped that, really. I mean, you don't even like macaroni. So it's not your fault. If you don't like macaroni she couldn't have expected you to order it. So who's fault is it? Not hers--you both agreed it was no one's fault; people fall out of love. No, not anyone's fault. Something's fault. Pasta. How stupid does that sound? The macaroni's fault.
Stupid but true.

You rake a shelf of the bags onto the floor; long packets of spaghetti, small papery bags of macaroni, big sacks of penne. As they hit the floor you stamp. The bags split like bruised fruit and
spill their contents across the floor. The shells hop and skid as you crack and squash them under your feet. The brunette turns, a worried glance back, and then scurries on. You kick a few stray bows after her, scattering nearby twirls.

Inevitably the guards appear. You let them take you, explaining that you aren't mad--you can imagine a lot of men in your position would be, but you are quite sane. You've never done this kind of thing before. You really are sorry. You'll pay for the cost, and the mess. If it helps you'll apologise to the brunette. Wait... they're not listening.

You end up speaking to a balding man who is really very intellectual--you know the sort--and he agrees, you are very sane. He agrees, love is a dangerous thing. It burns just as many as it warms. He agrees. Tired of his stating the obvious, you stop listening.

Another story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Say something, dammit.
You search her trolley
You glance over at the brunette's trolley. It is almost full--a cursory survey shows it to be mostly full of fresh produce and healthy food. The quantities suggest to you that, like yourself, she is cooking for one. Her choices though, seem to show a genuine love of food. Eating for her is not a burden. You almost feel humbled as you continue filling your trolley with the kind of easy, dull food that you have become accustomed to.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You search the woman
You stare at the woman. She is about your height, maybe even a little taller. And beautiful too, with superb hair. Strange; you haven't thought that about a woman for a while. Not since Rome.

You continue to stare at her. You wonder if she is called Clare.

Then she moves on to the next aisle. You grab a bag of pasta--penne--and carry on with your shopping.

One more story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You call Clare
You lean round the end of the aisle, "Clare?" Again, louder: "Clare?" She walks into the aisle, "Yeah?" You take her hand and walk her along to the gnocchi, "Look, gnocchi, like in Rome--I've never seen it in the shops before." She picks up a packet and drops it in the trolley. "Get some for tea then?" she offers, pecking you on the lips.

You have some for tea and it's like Rome, except: it's colder, you have work tomorrow and you're even more in love than you were
then.

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You find Clare
You scoot round the corner of the aisle. Sure enough there she is, looking through the magazines. You pull up behind her and slide and arm round her waist. She laughs, "Get off! We're in public." You pull out a packet of gnocchi from behind your back, "Look what I found." She smiles, "Gnocchi? Like in Rome. How sweet!" Then she starts to walk off, "Come on, we've got to be out at eight and we've still all the shopping to get done, and tea to cook!"

You turn the trolley and catch up with her.

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You hit the shelves
Shelves. Like little prisons. Tempting you with their goods.
Bastard shelves. You grab hold of a shelf and pull it off the backboard, shedding its contents across the floor. You tug at the backboard itself and the whole unit falls down, crashing and spilling.

Two security guards come running up the aisle and grab you, pushing your arm into your back.

The police come and it's the usual cycle of recrimination, them telling you what is wrong with you. How do they know? They
don't know what it was like.

You miss another ten years.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the jail
You look down the aisle and imagine it empty, smaller and with doors at either end.

Remember the institution?

They taught you to think differently. They told you that you had forgotten--but the red smile still haunts you. What they really made you forget was the guilt... that was what hurt the most. She made you feel guilty in her life and her death. But you forgot that.

You'll never forget the smile; the smiles you gave her. Bloody lips all over her body.

But that doesn't bother you, much... On with the shopping!

One more story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You take all
You can't use 'all' in this game. Refer to individual items.
Pray
You've prayed before--to no avail. But again you drop to one knee and close your eyes.

"Please God. Please God. Please God. Please.."

You stop--you know there is no point. You have sinned. You have been sinned against. It is too late. Best just go home and await judgement. Which you do.

A story finished. But there are others...
You remove the clothes
Now what she doesn't realise (and a lot of people don't realise this) is that you look bloody good for your age. Anyone can look good in a shirt and trousers. But you actually look good. Especially
for your age. You pull your jumper over your head and throw it to the floor. A few tugs and your shirt crumples around your feet. You kick off your shoes and bend down to remove your socks. You look up to see the brunette, shocked and intrigued. With a deft flick your belt snakes out of the hooks on your trousers. Your trousers fall and you stand, pink and hairy in the middle of the aisle. The brunette puts a hand to her mouth.

You take a hand to your balls, cupping them and displaying your penis. "Pretty good, eh? For my age?" You perform a little twirl, "You wouldn't give up on this would you?" The squeak of shoes behind you makes you turn to see several security guards coming at you from the direction of the checkouts. You stand your ground. As the men circle you they grab you reluctantly, careful where to put their hands. One of them scoops your clothes up and forces you into your trousers. "Stupid old perv," offers the fattest of the guards, avoiding your eyes. They drag you to the front of the shop (the police are on the way, you are informed). As they take you past the queues at the checkout you turn to confront your audience, "You want some? You all do!" Catching a glimpse of your reflection in the automatic doors you smile--you'll never lose your smile.

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You look at the markers
Each aisle has its marker, hanging above it on a long rail. You look at the sections; dairy, bread, meat, fish, sweets, alcohol, toiletries, frozen. Hard to decide which aisle you belong in. Before you met Clare you were meat. Raw, unfocused, a bit simple. With her you were promoted to a more civilised taste; sweets, alcohol. You were intoxicated, she was sweet. Meat was always wrapped in a puff pastry, or swamped in a pasta sauce. Never crude, raw, bloody... Now--well, now you're back to meat again. Except this time, you're frozen. If someone hit you hard enough you'd smash into hundreds of icy pieces.

A story finished. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You hit yourself
You look at the gnocchi--Looks the same as the gnocchi that you and Clare had the night before she left you. Rome; the most romantic city in the world and she left you there. Why? Who? Why? You ask
yourself the questions with your fists. You tear out your hair and punch your face. You run out of the store and drive home.

Later you lie in bed, questions tattooed across your body in bruises--no answers, just pain.

Another story done. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the mother
You can't remember yourself..
You kill yourself
You look at the gnocchi--Looks the same as the gnocchi that you and Clare had the night before she left you. Rome; the most romantic city in the world and she left you there. Why? Who? Why? You ask
yourself the questions with your fists. You tear out your hair and punch your face. You run out of the store and drive home.
Phone mother
Later you lie in bed, questions tattooed across your body in bruises--no answers, just pain.

Another story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Punch floor
There seems little point in attacking that.
You eat the macaroni
The pasta is a seething mass of off-white food. You tear at the plastic bags until the curls and tubes and twists and shells cascade onto the floor and into your hands. Scooping up a collection of different shapes you cram the pasta into your mouth. It is dry, it is hard. That's what your body is saying. But you learnt something a while back--that your body (your eyes, your hands, your
heart) isn't always right. No, you've learnt to listen to
your mind. And your minds says: soft, warm, slightly salty pasta. Tangy sauce. What a feast!

They spoil your fun, they take you away--or so your body says. Your mind knows better; you're still in Rome eating pasta, drinking wine--everything is fine.

Another story done. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You throw Gnocchi at woman
You pick up a packet of the gnocchi and watch it trail through the air, bouncing awkwardly off the brunette. Caught unawares, she drops the jar she is holding which shatters on the floor, leaving a puddle of grainy red. She stares, red-faced, in disbelief. You hear the soft crunch of leather boots behind you and turn to face a middle-aged security guard. You feint to the left then run to the right, out of the exit and to your car. As you pull away with a badly clutched roar, you shout out of the window "She had it coming--bitch!"

One more story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You go to the next aisle
Nope--Gnocchi is not on the list. You push the trolley forwards, moving round the brunette and continue your shop.

One more story over. Not the only one...
You throw the macaroni at woman
You pick up a packet of the macaroni and watch it trail through the air, bouncing awkwardly off the brunette. Caught unawares, she drops the jar she is holding which shatters on the floor, leaving a puddle of grainy red. She stares, red-faced, in disbelief. You hear the soft crunch of leather boots behind you and turn to face a middle-aged security guard. You feint to the left then run to the right, out of the exit and to your car. As you pull away with a badly clutched roar, you shout out of the window "She had it coming--bitch!"

A story finished. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You throw the trolley at the woman
(your trolley at the brunette)
You pull the trolley back a few inches then run it forward, releasing your hands and watching it whirr towards the woman. She stands oblivious to the trolley.

At the last moment it curls to the left and impacts with the shelves, sliding into the women's calf. She lets out a yelp and jumps back, falling to the floor. Jars of sauce cascade down from the shelves, littering the aisle with glassy, red splotches.

The woman gets to her feet, her hand going to her leg which is bleeding. Kind of reminds you of something, but you don't feel guilty! Uh-uh. You run out to the exit, dodging past the overweight security guard, and jump into your car. Hitting the gas you squeal out into the night, a faint remembrance sliding in through the window "Shame she had to bleed so much, but that's what happens when you take liberties.."

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You read the list
(in your trolley)
You discover nothing of interest in your trolley.
You eat the trolley
(your trolley)
I can't see why you would want to eat that.
You die
Are you sure you want to quit?
Dance
Dance? You put a spring into your step and hop to the slow swing of the Muzak. You're in a surprisingly jovial mood... But you do stop yourself before you make a scene... Thinking back it was probably her, Clare, who made you care less what people think--I mean what is wrong with a little dance if you feel like it? That's one of the things you'll remember her for.

A story finished. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You hit yourself with the trolley
(your trolley)
Yourself? That doesn't make sense.
You hit the trolley with yourself
(your trolley with yourself)
Futile.
Go north
Nope--Gnocchi is not on the list. You push the trolley forwards, moving round the brunette and continue your shop.

Another story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You hit the trolley with Gnocchi
(your trolley with the gnocchi)
Futile.
Go south
Nope--Gnocchi is not on the list. You turn the trolley round and head back to the previous aisle. You're sure you forgot something?

Whatever it was you can't remember and you scoot back to the pasta aisle. The brunette has gone and the aisle is empty. You grab some cheap pasta and carry on shopping.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You talk to the woman
You walk over to the sauces. You clear your throat.

Shit, how long has it been?

You begin, "Hi. Hello?" She looks at you, then turns with an "Er. Hi," hoping you will go away.

So hard, almost like a different species.

You continue, "How are you?" Again she is dismissive, "Sorry, do I know you?"

Why start again now?

"No. No. I just wondered--Oh never mind." You turn and walk back to your trolley.

You hear her scurrying on to the next aisle and wait for her to get ahead before you continue. So long since you spoke to a woman. Since you spoke to anyone. You push the trolley on.

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You wake up
You are already fully awake.
Sleep
You pick up a bag of gnocchi and turn it over. The doughy balls weigh heavily in your hands and tiredness seeps up your spine, casting a blanket over your brain. Your eyelids sink and your head lolls. It's time for sleep.

In the grey dusk twilight between sleep and consciousness images float across your eyes; gnocchi, women, a woman, statues, a slow motion crash of flesh on scooter. Your head jumps with a start. The veil is lifted. You're hunched over your trolley in the supermarket aisle, your cheek hot where it has been resting on your arm.

You really need to get some sleep but it's so hard to sleep with the dreams (the doctor said it would help to call them 'dreams' not 'nightmares').

Another story done. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You get in her trolley
You run up alongside the brunette and leap onto the trolley. She jumps into the shelves, shocked. The trolley skids, spinning round and out of the aisle. As it turns, the wheels lock and it turns onto its side, pulling you over with it. You hit the floor with a jolt, pain shooting up your elbow.

You climb to your feet, the brunette running over to you. Her shock has turned to anger and she looks at you, red faced, and with piercing eyes--"What the hell were you doing?" She raises a hand and you block as she slaps at you. With your hands above your head, you are chased out of the supermarket by the angry stranger.

Once you are outside she withdraws back into the warmth, a few choice phrases fired out as she goes. You cower for a while then trudge over to your car. As you are pulling out onto the main road a couple of security guards come running up to you. You leave them standing on the pavement as you pull out quickly and speed off into the night.

A story finished. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.

Say something, dammit.
You take her trolley
You jog up to the trolley and grab onto it with a hand. Putting a foot on the back wheels you pull it over--the contents bounce across the aisle, the metal crash of the trolley resounding round the aisle--

The brunette spins round, "Shit!" You give her a menacing glare--"You don't need all that food! Where you're going--" A crushing blow from behind knocks the words out of your mouth. You fall to the floor, landing sharply on the contents of the brunette's trolley. A man stands over you. He has an arm round the woman, "You alright, Kate?" She nods.

The man offers you a hand and pulls you up. When you are on your feet he releases your hand and steps back. Before you get a chance to dodge, his fist smacks into your face--

Under the advice of a lawyer you decide not to prosecute; apparently it might require you to undergo another psychiatric evaluation. Probably best--just let it go.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the scooter
The accident. You had joked about the traffic, over the previous days. There is something about scooters and Italians that is comical. But the thin veneer of blood soon takes that away. You can't remember much more than the skid, the collision and the shock. Friends and relatives organised everything--getting the body flown over, the police, the papers, etc. Gave you room to grieve. But you'll always remember the way the scooter flicked her into the air as if she were a feather. And the way she fell as if she were lead.

Shopping doesn't seem so important--well, still as important, just not as easy.

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You tell the woman about the accident
The brunette looks confused when you start talking, but you continue, "Please hear me out. I need to tell someone." She shifts uneasily on her feet. You go on, "See the gnocchi over there," you point to the pasta shelves, "it's triggered some nasty memories. I can't keep them to myself. The story goes like this: young lovers, very much in love, go to Rome for a summer holiday. On the last night they have a candlelit meal besides the Pantheon. Gnocchi was the second course. The next day a scooter hits Clare--she was one of the lovers--and takes all the life out of her." Her eyes flick to the floor, "I'm so sorry." You smile, "No one's fault. That's what it means, 'accident'--no one's fault. Not so bad really, thanks. Bye." You stroll back to your trolley, sorry that you had to include someone else--selfish really, but you doubt she was really listening. Probably thought you were some kind of crackpot.

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Propose to woman
You're tired of playing around with girls, getting tired of casual sex. Maybe time to settle down?

You were going to settle down all that time ago (four years now?) with Clare. Even had the ring. So the key this time is to be careful who you choose--and anyway, last time you were too young. Now you have experience on your side.

You've always thought that there is no point putting in unnecessary effort, and right in front of you is a beautiful woman--mature, sophisticated and intelligent. Leaving the gnocchi you walk over and drop to a knee. "Will you marry me?"

She looks down, laughing, "What?". You repeat yourself, "Marry me."

Now she looks confused, "Get away!" Again you repeat "Marry me."

She looks less amused now, "Piss off."

You're not stubborn and you know when you're beat. So you stand up and walk back towards your trolley. You spend about twenty minutes finishing the shopping and wheel up to the checkout. The woman at the checkout beeps all the goods through. She looks up with a smile and asks whether you have a store card. In response you drop to a knee (your face almost disappearing behind the sill of the counter) "Will you marry me?"

A story finished. But there are others...
Dance with woman
The Muzak informing your movements you waltz on over to the brunette, your hips rocking to the soulful sounds... As you approach you allow your legs to pick out a jaunty rhythm from the music and strut. "Fancy a dance?" sounds like a reasonable question as it leaves your lips. But from the look on her face you'd have thought you asked for something a lot more, well, naughty. She furrows her brow, "I'm sorry?" You wiggle your hips, "Come on--a dance? Shake your bones--"

Whoops. That doesn't mean to dance does it? I think you just alluded to the naughtiness you didn't intend... perhaps that was your intention all along... and she saw through you. Damn. Why do women always get that five minutes head start on you? You grab her hand and with a goodbye kiss to her knuckles you depart, "Ciao!"

Another story done. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Wave
(at the brunette)
If she would come over then you could chat and get to know each other--hey come over, baby. You wave enthusiastically. She doesn't acknowledge your wave; either she hasn't seen you or she doesn't want to see you. More waving, this time with both hands. "Hey! Over here!" Now she must be ignoring you, and she's doing a damn good job
of it. One last, desperate wave... no, she's gone.

You've been here before, haven't you?

A cool breeze whips droplets up off the waves and wets the air. The river Tiber. You had assumed that the Tiber would be to Rome what the Seine was Paris; the perfect place for a romantic stroll. The reality is a grafitti'd, dirty stink. A green, thick streak through the city. The evening was going badly as it was, after the argument at the restaurant, and this fetid river has only made it worse. Clare is walking ahead of you, defiant strides putting distance between you. You wave, "Come back....wait..."

One last, desparate wave... no, she's gone.

Another story done. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You wait
You pause, the gnocchi still in your view. Rome. Rome. "When in Rome..." Clare.

You slowly let an image form in your mind; the metro, busy--packed with Italians and heat. Sweaty, close heat. And her hand in yours--hot, sweaty and easy to hold. The train slows,

"Termini. Termini."

Termini station; the end of the line. The train slowly pulls into the station.

You slowly begin to push your trolley to the next aisle.

A story finished. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember rome
Rome.

You pick up the Gnocchi and stare at the illustration of Piazza Venezia on its packet. You remember; sun, heat, food, pasta, sauces, wine, love, ancient, modern, Italians, Americans, love. And ultimately pain. A pain you had thought you had forgotten. But like a cancer returning to wreak havoc again, the pain resurfaces and tears through the thin barriers you had erected. Tears flow. Memories; guilt. And finally acceptance. You live with it.

Another story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You ask the woman about the rome
You draw your trolley alongside the brunette. Clearing your throat, you introduce yourself. She asks what you want. "Sorry, yeah, I just wanted to know. Have you ever been to Rome?" She thinks, "No. I've never been to Italy. My husband suggested Rome, actually, for our holiday this year. What's this for--is it some consumer survey?"

You chuckle. "Well, I'm a consumer and I'm asking a question. So maybe." She smiles, "Is that it?" You nod, "Yeah, that's it. Thanks."

You walk back towards your trolley, "Oh, one more thing--don't go to Rome with your husband. Try Paris instead." Wish I had...

Another story done. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the suicide
The sound of the door as you opened it, drawing against the wet floor. That is what you remember. Water is harmless. But what you don't remember: the bath, her body in the bath. The blood--the blood swirling with the water and lapping at your feet, how it was all so Clare--such a romantic idea of suicide, the bath overflowing as her life-blood left her. The way her head was lolling against the side of the bath, staring at you when you walked in. The porter had never seen anything like it before.

Had she planned this all along--was the holiday a framing device for her carefully staged exit? Or did something click whilst on the holiday? There were no signs. You've told everyone that. There were
no signs. She was perfectly happy. Perfectly happy.

And now, it's all so long ago, and you're perfectly happy too.

One more story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You cry
Years of loneliness condense into the innocent, floury white buds of gnocchi. Your knees weaken and you drop to the floor, salty tears running in streams down your face and dripping off your chin.

When the tears abate, you get to your feet. You've come to realise that there will always be tears.

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You tell the woman about the suicide
You walk up to the brunette, leaving your trolley adrift in the aisle. "Hi." She turns to look at you, a smile on her face. The smile drops as you recount the shock and the pain and how the thing you remember most was the noise as you opened the door and the blood and water lapped around your feet. Then you stop speaking and her expression turns from shock to pity. She puts and arm around you and says how sorry she is. But that's all she can do, and she leaves you.

The brunette must have said something to someone because after a few minutes a small, kind-looking lady comes up and takes you to the supermarket cafe. She gives you a cup of tea and a small muffin. It's a nice gesture, but only reminds you of the breakfast you had minutes before you discovered Clare. The tea is warm, almost body-temperature. You sense that the staff are worrying now--the presence of a grown man crying in their cafe cannot be good for business. You go before they have to ask you.

One more story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You look under the cart
(your trolley)
I don't think there will be anything special under your trolley.
You go home
You turn the trolley round and head to the checkout. You unload onto the conveyor and the cheerful young girl in plain uniform blips everything through her scanner.

A friendly young man packs everything into bags and you wheel them to your car. You unload into your boot and drive home. The roads are quiet.

One more story over. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You ask the woman about the home
You walk up to the brunette with the question on your lips. But as you near her, the question seems to slip away, ducking out of sight. It had something to do with the home... The brunette turns round, sensing your presence, and makes eye contact. You blush and turn back quickly. With sweaty palms you grab a few bags of pasta and hurry on to the next aisle.

One more story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember institution
You look down the aisle and imagine it empty, smaller and with doors at either end.

Remember the institution?

They taught you to think differently. They told you that you had forgotten--but the red smile still haunts you. What they really made you forget was the guilt... that was what hurt the most. She made you feel guilty in her life and her death. But you forgot that.

You'll never forget the smile; the smiles you gave her. Bloody lips all over her body.

But that doesn't bother you, much... On with the shopping!

One more story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You tell the woman about the institution
You scurry up to the brunette. "Excuse me--I probably ought to tell you this, now rather than later", she looks confused and you continue, "but I am a murderer. All very complicated complicated stuff--but basically I killed my girlfriend (my lover) and well I am over it now so there is no problem there but like I said just thought I would say.."

With that off your chest you continue on your shop.

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You invite the woman home
You leave your trolley and walk up to the brunette. She turns to you and you smile, "Come with me! I'll show you a good time. I promise. I'll buy you a meal, we can go on holiday! Just come with me." You put out your hand. She makes no move to take it. "Come on! Let's go. Come with me..." She's looking alarmed now and she starts to walk away.

She didn't want to come with you? Well, at least you asked. No harm in trying.

Another story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with
sauces.

Say something, dammit.
You listen
You stand and listen; just the sounds of a supermarket. Trolleys, packets, boxes, people shuffling. And the beep beep of cash
registers.

You've heard it all before, nothing to worry about. You continue with your shopping and drive home.

Another story done. But then...
Smell woman
You draw alongside the woman and inhale. She is draped in a perfume that combines fruit, alcohol and spice. You let the scent fall slowly down your throat, and allow yourself to wonder what the rest of the brunette smells like.

But you really aren't the type of person who could find out and so you trot back to your trolley and continue with your shop.

Another story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Smell
You stand and draw in air through your nose. Cleanliness, suggestions of spice drifting in from somewhere. And a hint of perfume hanging in the air. Is the perfume with you? Is it a reminder of what was here? A taster for what is to come?

Or is it just here to taunt, with its promises of intimacy and sex?

You exhale and move on.

Another story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Smell Gnocchi
You try to smell the gnocchi, but it is contained in its plastic bag and gives only an impression of chemicals. Dissapointing.

You dismiss the gnocchi and carry on shopping.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You think
You'll have to say what you want to think about.
You think about dinner
You remember the meal like this: Clare sat opposite. It was warm but an evening breeze took the uncomfortable edge of the heat. You ordered and the food took a while to come. The wine made your face red. You walked back after the meal via the Spanish Steps. You sat amongst the crowds until the police moved you on so that they could wash the steps ready for the tourists in the morning. You strolled back to the hotel down backstreets, past the four fountain junction; a crossroads with fountains built into the houses on each corner. You knew from experience that the water in them was ice cold, even in the afternoon heat. You ran a finger through the water as you walked past and wiped it on your trousers before taking Clare's hand in yours. Which seems like a good place to end.

A story finished. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You give Gnocchi to the woman
You scoop a packet of gnocchi off the shelves and run over to the brunette. "Hi. Take this!", you chuck the gnocchi into her trolley. She squeaks, "What? Sorry, I don't want any, thanks." She takes it out and passes it back to you.

"No. No. Take it--" You put the gnocchi back in her
trolley. She looks exasperated, "No, please--I don't want it. Thanks." Well, what can you say? You can take a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. You take the gnocchi and pad back to your trolley, shouting back "It tastes really nice--" You stop; she's gone.

You take the gnocchi for yourself and finish shopping. When you get back home (traffic is awful) you put on the hob and start boiling the water. You chuck the gnocchi into the pan and walk into the lounge. Flicking on the TV you sit down and start watching the news.

You wake up, lips moist with dribble, and a numb arm where you slept on it. You jump up and run into the kitchen. Aw, shit. The pan has boiled dry, and the gnocchi is smoking. You sprint to the window and try to lift it open, but too late--the smoke alarm sounds: Beeeee-eeee-eeeee-eeee-eee-eeee.

Later on you sit in the lounge again, a plate of burnt gnocchi in your lap. You stab a small fluffy (blackened) bud and swallow it.
Yum. It tastes really nice.

One more story over. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You give the sauce to the woman
You grab some bags of macaroni and walk over. You chuck them into the brunette's trolley. Then a few jars of sauce. She turns, her face a map of disbelief, "What are you doing?"

You don't get it. You're just helping her with her shopping, "I was... just trying to help. Helping with your shopping..." She pushes you away, "Get off! Leave me alone!" You stand back, "Sorry..."

You walk back to your trolley, "If you do need my help--just ask." God, next time you won't bother. What is it with people?

Another story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Dream
Day dreaming. It's like that thing about the butterfly--you know, the man dreams about being a butterfly, but is he a man dreaming of being a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming about being a man dreaming about a butterfly? You spend some much time dreaming, more than not in fact. So, as I'm sure you realise, the fact that you are dreaming now is not strange. And what are you dreaming?

and you show her some gnocchi and then you eat it and live happily ever after.

Pretty shit, yeah? But no-one said your dreams had to be works of art.

Another story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You tell the woman about the illness
You slowly pad up to the brunette. She turns, you speak "Sorry to bother you, but I really need to speak to someone, right now." She looks empathetic and you continue, "A few years ago the love of my life, Clare was her name, she died very suddenly and in real pain. The thing is, well, she is out of her misery. But I'm not--we had gnocchi the night she died--", you point to the bags of gnocchi on the shelves, "and it's all coming back to me. I just need to talk---"

She smiles a sad, caring smile, "Do you want a cup of tea, love?" She takes you to the cafe and you sit (you have cake as well as tea) and she lets you talk.

When you finish you wish you had done that sooner. The pain is still there, but now you have some power over it.

One more story over. But then...
You ask the woman about herself
You smile, flash your teeth, "How you doing?" The brunette turns, smiles politely, "Fine, thanks." She pauses, unsure as to whether she should turn back to shelves or maintain eye contact.

You take the initiative, "Shopping for one?" She smiles, "Yes. You're quite forward aren't you?" You reflect her smile, "Yes. But no-one ever got anywhere hiding under a bushel, did they?" "So you're not one to hide under a bushel then?" "When it's required, sure--", you falter (think of something funny, sexy) and she steps in, "Look I've got to get my shopping finished now, but I can see you for a drink later?"

You smile again, "Sure... you're being quite forward now--for
all you know I could be a loon." She looks you up and down, "No. I don't think so."

Another story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You ask the woman about her day
You sidle on over.

"You look tired." She glances over her shoulder, "Pardon?"

"Sorry--didn't mean to be rude. I just thought you were looking tired--had a hard day?" She smiles, "I'd love to say no, but you're right--I've had a stinker of a day", again she smiles, "and now I'm being chatted up by a loon in the supermarket. When all I want to do is get home and put my feet up." You give a mock look of upset, "I'm no loon!.. Put your feet up you say? Well, four feet are better than two--"

She interrupts, "I'm going to have to stop you there, Mr. Supermarket smooth. You're a nice guy--well I don't know, but you seem nice--so I don't want to disappoint you. I'm not into men so much, you know?" You shrug, "...I could watch?" She groans and rolls her eyes to the heavens. You turn, taking a coin from your pocket and tossing it. For every tail there's a head. It's just a matter of numbers, and yours will be up soon. Till then just keep on trying...

Another story done. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember illness
You remember the one thing you didn't want to remember. Your
last meal with Clare. She was in bed, pasty white and crumbling. She wanted something nice for her last meal and so you got some
special Gnocchi brought up by room service. But she couldn't eat it and she dribbled, and couldn't swallow. And she couldn't even cry--nor could you, you had to be brave. But you don't now. As the memory opens up, the lock in your tear canal slowly eases open and there is release.

Another story done. Then again...
Undress
Tucking your toe under the hem of her dress, you flick it up. She spins round, clutching at her clothes, "Hey!"

You back off, arms raised in an apologetic gesture, "Sorry. Sorry. Just thought you might like to slip into something a little more... comfortable?" She gives a look of incredulity, "What?" You move nearer, again, "Look--don't fret just get undressed. Come on
slip out of that dress--what's wrong? You not got any underwear on? No, you have--I can see it now: Sexy black lingerie,
clutching you tightly. Your bra only separated from your breasts by a layer of perspiration--" She slaps you, spitting "Jesus Christ. Go take a cold shower, get some fucking help!" as she strides off to the next aisle, leaving you giggling. Ha! She didn't guess. She didn't realise that is was you wearing the sexy black lingerie.
The best Italian suspenders. Only the best next to your skin.
Baby soft skin. Clapping your hands together you trot back to the trolley. Gnocchi for two? You'd like that wouldn't you Clare?
I sure would, Clark. Sexy bitch!

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Frown
Your brow becomes furrowed, sporting a frown. You don't like it when you are forced to think about Rome, and more specifically Clare. She seems to be getting along with it--she's been with her new boyfriend for ages now (you can't stand him) and she seems fine talking to you. But you would much rather just, well, not keep in touch. It just keeps the wounds open...

The frown follows you around for the rest of the shop (you feel sorry for the checkout girl--she gets a particularly severe look, no fault of her own) and spend the rest of the evening in a really dissatisfied mood.

Another story over. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You ask the woman about yourself
She looks at you, "Sorry?" You blush, "Oh. Oh. Nothing." You quickly turn round and wheel your half-full trolley to the checkout. Then home.

A story finished. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You call Clare
You lean round the end of the aisle, "Clare?" Again, louder: "Clare?" She walks into the aisle, "Yeah?" You take her hand and walk her along to the gnocchi, "Look, gnocchi, like in Rome--I've never seen it in the shops before." She picks up a packet and drops it in the trolley. "Get some for tea then?" she offers, pecking you on the lips.

You have some for tea and it's like Rome, except: it's colder, you have work tomorrow and you're even more in love than you were
then.

Another story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Pray
You've prayed before--to no avail. But again you drop to one knee and close your eyes.

"Please God. Please God. Please God. Please.."

You stop--you know there is no point. You have sinned. You have been sinned against. It is too late. Best just go home and await judgement. Which you do.

A story finished. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You call the security guard
"Help! Security!" A balding man in his forties, squeezed into a blue uniform appears at the bottom of the aisle. "Can I help you sir?" You run to him. Pull him close. Whisper in his ear: "You see that woman?" "Yes, sir" "She just raped me." "I don't quite understand sir?" "She is stealing all your food!" "Calm down sir, speak slowly" You raise your voice, "I will not be quiet! It's your job--stop her!" The guard pauses. You make a dash for the woman, "If you won't do your job, then I will--" He is too quick for you and hooks a foot around your leg. You crash to the floor and black out, the guard's words dragged with you into oblivion, "I think you ought to come with me, sir."

A story finished. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Empty trolley
(your trolley)
You look into the trolley; meals for one, toiletries for one--everything for one. You tip the trolley on to its side and
it sheds its contents. A bottle smashes and wine spills onto the floor. The brunette hurries on nervously and you kick a can down the aisle. Then you leave into the night.

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Empty woman's trolley
You jog up to the trolley and grab onto it with a hand. Putting a foot on the back wheels you pull it over--the contents bounce across the aisle, the metal crash of the trolley resounding round the aisle--

The brunette spins round, "Shit!" You give her a menacing glare--"You don't need all that food! Where you're going--" A crushing blow from behind knocks the words out of your mouth. You fall to the floor, landing sharply on the contents of the brunette's trolley. A man stands over you. He has an arm round the woman, "You alright, Kate?" She nods.

The man offers you a hand and pulls you up. When you are on your feet he releases your hand and steps back. Before you get a chance to dodge, his fist smacks into your face--

Under the advice of a lawyer you decide not to prosecute; apparently it might require you to undergo another psychiatric evaluation. Probably best--just let it go.

Another story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You find Clare
You scoot round the corner of the aisle. Sure enough there she is, looking through the magazines. You pull up behind her and slide and arm round her waist. She laughs, "Get off! We're in public." You pull out a packet of gnocchi from behind your back, "Look what I found." She smiles, "Gnocchi? Like in Rome. How sweet!" Then she starts to walk off, "Come on, we've got to be out at eight and we've still all the shopping to get done, and tea to cook!"

You turn the trolley and catch up with her.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You follow the woman
You stand by the gnocchi until she starts to move off. Then you walk in step with her, cornering the aisle a few metres behind her. She stops to put something in her trolley, and you pull up across the aisle. This goes on for a few minutes.

You come to a point where you are straddling the line between following an attractive woman and stalking one. You decide to stop, and recommence your shopping.

What made you follow her in the first place--sure she's attractive, but... Maybe there was something about her that rang a few bells. A dulled romance in the far reaches of your mind, reawakened, reborn in a stranger? Best forgotten, eh?

One more story over. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You fill the woman's trolley
You grab some bags of macaroni and walk over. You chuck them into the brunette's trolley. Then a few jars of sauce. She turns, her face a map of disbelief, "What are you doing?"

You don't get it. You're just helping her with her shopping, "I was... just trying to help. Helping with your shopping..." She pushes you away, "Get off! Leave me alone!" You stand back, "Sorry..."

You walk back to your trolley, "If you do need my help--just ask." God, next time you won't bother. What is it with people?

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You fill your trolley
Grabbing some bags of Gnocchi you continue, whipping round the store in no time and filling the trolley. You have almost too much
stuff. You pay for it--it comes to a tidy sum--and wheel the bags out to the car. You pack the boot and drive out onto the road. When you get back home you spend a while emptying the car, carrying food to the flat and unpacking.

Then you put on a meal, take a drink, sit back and relax...

Another story done. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You crack up
Foam gurgles on the edges of your lips as you cease to monitor their output,

"GnocchiOh!Oh!GnocchideGato!Clare--je
t'aime--Iwillalways

gnocchignocchiWhereareyoUNOw? DiningwIThtHEwORmsinaNEARthy...paradiseOH! Claregnochignochignoggignokkkkkkkkkkkeeeee!
gnocchigibber
gnocchish. G'night!"

You bow out without a fight--the right thing to do; just like she would have wanted--if only--right? But the train doesn't stop in time. Always comes back to the potato. He smiles, "Gnog Gnog Gnoch pot pot."

Another story done. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You jump
Staring at the gnocchi you feel a memory slowly, awkwardly, awfully rise to the surface.

--The scooter driver looks surprised. You grab for Clare and jump to the side--bounce across the road, scrape your head--

Scuffed and light headed you open your eyes... your hands are empty--Clare is a few metres away, lying awkwardly. Splattered with a thin red liquid, reflecting the scooter's bright red paintwork.

The scooter skids--you jump. You are in the supermarket. Your hands are empty, sweaty.

Another story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Panic
The gnocchi sits smugly on the shelves. The brunette is either:

(a) a spy sent by the hospital,
(b) a friend of Clare's, intent on revenge,
or,
(c) your mother, in disguise.

You slowly start to back away, keeping your eyes on her. As you clear the end of the aisle, she turns, reaching into her jacket. You dive across the end of the aisle, scrambling to your feet and running towards the exits. You get to the doors, wait. After what seems like an age the automatic sensors concede and the doors slide open. You emerge into the car park. Shit.

here. You can't escape now.

You fall to your knees, a trolley-parker approaching--why are they being so blatant? They're normally so clever. They must know they have won.

Sweating in your skull, your brain decides that the best way to calm you down is to deny you consciousness. The world fades, blurry and greasy, the parker speaks--threatening code-speak--"Sir, are you OK?"

Another story done. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You talk to the self
You speak. Funny how talking to yourself seems like the right thing to do when you are in public.

But when you get home you know that it won't be enough. You'll want company--companionship. A companion. But you can't buy those in the shops.

You buy what you can and take it home.

A story finished. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You laugh at the woman
Look at her--she's ridiculous. She's--what--thirty? Forty? Old, anyhow. Yet look at how she's dressed... and the way she's spending so much time choosing a pasta sauce; does she think she looks cultured? She's not even much of a looker. Pretty funny actually. You laugh, loud--and so she know's it's her you're laughing at. Soon enough she totters off to the next aisle, red faced. Ha! Ha! People are so
funny.

One more story over. And yet...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember Clare's leaving
You remember the note, word for word:

..I did love you once.. but have to leave you now.. hope you will get over it.. for the best.. there is not anyone else.. I'm sorry.. Clare.

The note answered no questions. It gave rise to far too many questions--and maybe it's time to either find answers or forget.

You finish shopping, go home and think.

One more story over. But there are others...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You tell the woman about the clare's leaving
You walk up to the brunette and try to tell her about the note, about Clare's sudden leaving. But the words fail to come, you can't
do this. So you do a quick about-turn and walk back to your
trolley.

Some things just aren't meant to be shared. You trundle the trolley on, the hint of a tear sliding into the corner of your eye.

Another story done. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the meal
You remember the meal like this: Clare sat opposite. It was warm but an evening breeze took the uncomfortable edge of the heat. You ordered and the food took a while to come. The wine made your face red. You walked back after the meal via the Spanish Steps. You sat amongst the crowds until the police moved you on so that they could wash the steps ready for the tourists in the morning. You strolled back to the hotel down backstreets, past the four fountain junction; a crossroads with fountains built into the houses on each corner. You knew from experience that the water in them was ice cold, even in the afternoon heat. You ran a finger through the water as you walked past and wiped it on your trousers before taking Clare's hand in yours. Which seems like a good place to end.

One more story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember Pantheon
You remember the Pantheon. It looked so solid... it had stood the test of time. You were sure that nothing could be ephemeral after being near that. It was so beautiful, yet strong. Timeless. But you were wrong--it was the only thing that was so. Your life, your relationship, Clare.. all open to change, decay and collapse.

The image of the Pantheon in your head slowly sinks, failing to support you with its pillars. You move the memory aside, out of direct sight, and continue with the shopping.

Another story over. Then again...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the love
Remember love? You don't even know what the word means any more. You need to find love again before you can remember it. Right now all there is is a dulled pain. And Gnocchi rubbing it in.

Another story over. Not the only one...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
You remember the day's work
Your mind wanders over the day's work. Fairly usual stuff; Johnathon really pissed you off, taking your work, putting a cover on it and getting all the credit. But lunch was cool; Michelle and you had a fun chat about her new boyfriend over coffee. You pointed out that he was exactly twice her age, something she hadn't realised. Plus, you managed to get all the Longbridge account finished, which is a weight off your mind--

A mental kick up the arse--stop thinking about work and get on with the shopping. Clare'll kill you if you're back late.

A quick scoot round the rest of the supermarket--a full trolley--then, stepping on the gas, you arrive home just before seven. Clare opens the door to you, "Ooh... home early? What have I done to be so lucky?"

A story finished. But then...
Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing
you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

Interesting... fresh Gnocchi--you haven't had any of that since... Rome.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly coloured aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few metres ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.
Y.
debugcheapnitfol quit with exit status: 0