Credit Cards and Romantic Receipts


Plumes of dust speckle like dandruff resting on shoulders coated in navy blue.
“See that?” He questions.
“Yeah.” I reply.
“I think that light is from the computer monitor.” He says.
“Oh. It’s still pretty…”
Bleach scent entombed by frozen vegetables and TV dinners. Knock kneed laborer guides an electric mop across scuffed tiles.
“Can’t go down that aisle.” He says.
“Why not?” I reply.
“Don’t want you slippin’ and suin’ us.” His response trails off and he fills the space with laughter bouncing like hiccups and for a moment I feel special.

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