Her groceries lie strewn along the motorized length of the cashier’s conveyor: Canada Dry staggered Habitat 67 style; cans of tomato paste – upright, fallen, rolling; boxes tumbling over...
Vancouver – English Bay.
The only sound is a high-pitched hum from just above my ear, from the fluorescent bulb sheathed in IKEA-white plastic. I wiggle my jaw tentatively. Bones shift and clunk and make their own music as...
I stare at the chair. It yawns dully at me; settles back with a vacuous look.
Tap my pencil against my teeth.
Hmm. This will be harder than I thought.