from bed, gas station glances

It was saturday afternoon in the middle of march when she came across the street to let me know how good the strawberries were that i left on her doorstep eight months ago. we met in the produce section of kwik trip picking out bananas while the gas nozzle hung in my 88 accord. i have a hard time understanding the mound of yellow arches perfectly displayed no matter the month, i must have muttered so much under my breath, surprisingly through the potassium pile she chimed in about her affinity for berries, i shot back that the ‘straw variety’ were the best. she smiled.confused that she spoke, and, i’m pretty sure, to me, i found myself caught in a roundabout with no stated direction. i spun out without getting closer to grab a hotdog and confection. safe at the counter i looked over as she fumbled through an Orbitz box and said ‘see you around’. three days later she either considered me a creep or considerate. i left a note on top ‘enjoy’ with my initial. mysterious and weird but i hate being Mark. 

i wasn’t sure what brought her out that misty day to say with so much time in the way that i was ok. at least, that’s how i took it. ‘oh, glad you enjoyed them’. it’s all i could think of after a tunnel of two family member’s burials and a lost girlfriend filled the space between our fluorescent sheltered exchange.

she shrugged and turned ‘well, have a good day’ 

have a good day? 

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