“Three soaps, tampons, and five milk cartons,” she read repeatedly. The maroon coat wrapped around her tank top and pajamas graciously swept the floor. Frantically, she passed all the aisles in her floppy bedroom slippers.
Skimpily dressed girls picked up chips, school kids grabbed soda cans, and tummy-bursting hairy men stood at the corner cursing at their wives. They all took the split second to look at the peculiar creature in search of tampons.
She ran on to the third counter and ended up as thirty-third in the line. A short man with humongous bi-focal glasses and twitching left eye tapped slowly on what seemed an ancient cash machine. Her legs started shaking and her cell phone was ringing. The cashier was heavily panting wanting the day to end. The Sun refused to set, and just then the code-reader conked
