I take the stairs down from our apartment quickly thump-thump-thump-thump and out onto the street, down the street, chillier than it was earlier today, to the grocery store. Two ladies stare at the strawberries and pistachios as if they’re about to genuflect, but I don’t have time for their rapture, so I hurry between them to the produce aisle and my goal: tomatoes.
Ninety-nine cents a pound for beautiful, red, oblong plum tomatoes! I grab two and zip over to the self-checkout, where I use my bank card to pay thirty-nine sense for these lovelies, and ignore the bags and carry them home in my hands.
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