text: [Themes: Slice of life, male protagonist, strong profanity, unstable truth]
  
  > 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...
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > examine the coins
  Sorry. You can't use your possessions directly.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > steal sauces
  No. You don't want to steal anything.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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...
  
  > 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...
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > put the woman in trolley
  (your trolley)
  You need to be holding the brunette before you can put her into something else.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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