Four trips up the elevator and down the stairs and back again. Hot dog buns and hummus, Lean Cuisine, and facial cleanser. Tired. Plastic bag handles cut into my flesh, three per arm, balancing to lift my key to the lock, and not dropping the eggs.
I swing the door wide. Cats peek around the corner, I switch on the light, shut the door with my foot, hobble into the kitchen and unload the stuff into the refrigerator. Who hid the turkey slices under the Fig Newtons and why? Cold stays with cold. Remove the rubber band from the styrofoam container of eggs. Slide the extra hash browns in the bottom of the freezer, side-by-side fridge and freezer, mustard yellow. The kitchen is all brown and yellow, hard to believe popular colors thirty years ago were excrement-themed.
I probably should've bought a vegetable.
No points for lemon juice.