GraybeardGhost
Well-known member
Dreaming . . . dreaming . . .
I'm in Aldi, shopping for pretzels. They don't actually sell the kind I like, but there's one bag of them sitting there on the shelf nonetheless. The manager, a slender, dark-haired woman in her forties, whom I've always found attractive, is there, and she's putting some stuff on a cart to take into the back—including my pretzels! I ask her for them, and she hands me a different bag: the right brand, but the wrong kind. I try to explain that she's given me the wrong bag, and in so doing, I casually touch her arm.
Something sparks.
At once, the pretzels are forgotten as we stare at each other, both slightly shocked. Is it electricity? Magnetism? Lust? I don't know, but she suddenly leans forward, and in full view of everyone in the store—employees, customers milling about—she kisses me. It's a hard kiss, a hungry kiss, her lips a perfect fit to mine. It's the sort of kiss that lasts the briefest moment, but in that moment tears the world down to its foundation and builds it up anew. A second at most, and it's done.
We both step back, eyes wide, silently wondering, asking, answering, then turn away, blushing, hoping no one else has noticed our indiscretion. A quick glance around the store suggests that no one has. I stagger on weak, rubbery legs to a corner and drop heavily onto some unknown waiting perch. My head is spinning. It's warm in here. I'm a little out of breath. She turns back to her work, glancing coyly over her shoulder one last time, the barest hint of a smile on her lips and something—something luminescent—in her eyes.
Then the phone rings—cruelly—and I'm awake, and through the lingering fog of sleep, someone is talking to me about money and trucks and I don't know what. I'm listening, answering, but I can still feel the pressure of her lips, and I can still see the look in her eyes, and . . .
. . . and I'm in Aldi, shopping for pretzels, the kind they don't sell, the kind money can't buy.
I must be lonelier than I thought.
I'm in Aldi, shopping for pretzels. They don't actually sell the kind I like, but there's one bag of them sitting there on the shelf nonetheless. The manager, a slender, dark-haired woman in her forties, whom I've always found attractive, is there, and she's putting some stuff on a cart to take into the back—including my pretzels! I ask her for them, and she hands me a different bag: the right brand, but the wrong kind. I try to explain that she's given me the wrong bag, and in so doing, I casually touch her arm.
Something sparks.
At once, the pretzels are forgotten as we stare at each other, both slightly shocked. Is it electricity? Magnetism? Lust? I don't know, but she suddenly leans forward, and in full view of everyone in the store—employees, customers milling about—she kisses me. It's a hard kiss, a hungry kiss, her lips a perfect fit to mine. It's the sort of kiss that lasts the briefest moment, but in that moment tears the world down to its foundation and builds it up anew. A second at most, and it's done.
We both step back, eyes wide, silently wondering, asking, answering, then turn away, blushing, hoping no one else has noticed our indiscretion. A quick glance around the store suggests that no one has. I stagger on weak, rubbery legs to a corner and drop heavily onto some unknown waiting perch. My head is spinning. It's warm in here. I'm a little out of breath. She turns back to her work, glancing coyly over her shoulder one last time, the barest hint of a smile on her lips and something—something luminescent—in her eyes.
Then the phone rings—cruelly—and I'm awake, and through the lingering fog of sleep, someone is talking to me about money and trucks and I don't know what. I'm listening, answering, but I can still feel the pressure of her lips, and I can still see the look in her eyes, and . . .
. . . and I'm in Aldi, shopping for pretzels, the kind they don't sell, the kind money can't buy.
I must be lonelier than I thought.
