I’ve been sitting a while, parked in front of the grocery store. We didn’t need anything, I just had to get out of there. And now I’m sitting here, prolonging my trip for nothing.
Refracted light from from around the parking lot does a poor job of filling my car with definition. It only just started raining, but the darkness descended a long time ago. The kind of rain where the drops are heavy on the roof of the car, but they are infrequent. A lazy rain, but thorough.
I don’t want to buy more cigarettes, but I can’t think of anything else to get at the store.
I probably will, and then pretend like nobody can smell the stench on me. So much is crumbling that I don’t want to crumble, I need to be able to choose something for destruction too, the yearning for smoke comes from that and becomes relentless.
I don’t rush, I get out and let the rain soak me; eyes down to avoid the possibility of any acquaintances targeting me with their life updates.
The house will be dark if I stay out long enough, I won’t have see how she looks at me.
Powerful writing, hopefully you got out of that situation and are doing better now.
I’ve sat in that parking lot. Different store, different reasons, but I know that feeling of prolonging the trip for nothing because going back feels harder than sitting in the half-dark. You rendered this beautifully, Jay.