I shop, like anyone else. And it always amazes me the way the market doubles as a rendezvous for lonely souls and frustrated marrieds. I never had the inventiveness or initiative or the hope of engaging in the hunt.
At the produce section she sidled up sensually, unabashed, born on intoxicatingly subtle waves of jasmine and musk. As I reached for a cantaloupe to test it’s ripeness, and my own nonchalance, I felt her too close. Beguilingly close. Unnaturally close but oh so welcome.
“I came her for you”, she whispered and ran her ring finger ever so lightly across the back of my hand.
“Why?” I stammered, annoyed at my lack of an eloquent reply.
“Because you are the one. If we continue this mundane act of shopping we will be in danger of losing the moment. I want you and I can feel that you want me.”
I do, you’re right. What now?" I asked.
“You drive us to your home and we let nature take it’s course.”
We left our half fulfilled patronage like so much inconsequential baggage and almost ran to the exit. We joined hands like old lovers as we approached my car.
Then I clubbed her and threw her into the trunk.
Danger haunts even the marketplace.