juice

Her eyes ablaze like fires watched me as I moved around the supermarket. A gentle smile touched the corners of her mouth each time she noticed me looking back. A line or two around her mouth betrayed her age, early forties, but her hair and her figure were those of a woman in her early twenties. Her two young children ran around her incessantly as she shopped and it was uncanny how many times we bumped into each other even though my shopping method was completely erratic. At the check-out I looked up only to see her gazing at me from the check-out a few rows down. She smiled again when she realised I’d caught her looking and she looked down. I realised I’d forgotten a few items so I ran back in and went through the process once more. A few moments later, as I started to walk home, I walked past her car that was parked up against the pedestrian path. She looked at me through the windscreen and smiled as she reversed out. I walked home alone and had a glass of Orange Juice.

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