text: 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...
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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...
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > remember the mother
  You can't remember yourself..
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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...
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > read the list
  (in your trolley)
  You discover nothing of interest in your trolley.
  
  > eat the trolley
  (your trolley)
  I can't see why you would want to eat that.
  
  > 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.
  
  > hit yourself with the trolley
  (your trolley)
  Yourself? That doesn't make sense.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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. Bef