Sunday, October 25th, 2020

I should know not to shop for groceries when I’m tired and hungry. I stand, uncertain, at the entrance to the supermarket at the Heart of the City. I think of skipping it, but I need some things for breakfast tomorrow. I tell myself to stick to my usual shopping list, just getting things that I had planned. I do make one impulse purchase, a package of yellowfin tuna steaks that are surprisingly cheap. I still haven’t gotten used to how this place has reorganized itself, but I find what I need. The bread aisle slows me down. I know I have to get sliced bread, but hadn’t thought much about what kind. Multigrain, definitely, but there are too many choices. I close my eyes, open them, and get the first appropriate loaf that I see. Otherwise, it’s my usual haul: boneless chicken thighs, peppers, persimmons, small and large pitas, and rice desserts. I forget to get butter. Once out of the supermarket, I realize that I need to eat something. All the falafel joints are closed except the big popular one, and that place confuses me when I’m at my best. I carry my groceries into the city square, find a remote bench, and take a persimmon from the bag. Two benches down, the woman who collects the bottles sits with an array of cats. A man with very little Hebrew tries to ask or tell her something. They communicate through gestures. She corrects his grammar. I never figure out what he wants. I finish the persimmon, put my headphones on, and wander the rest of the way home. I unpack and stare at my groceries. Rather than choosing, I make myself a cheese sandwich.