I saw her picking out a cantaloupe inspecting squeezing considering thinking it'll go bad before she can eat it but still throwing it in her cart. I followed her to the register and watched her pick a pack of gum.
I wanted to ask her name in my dream that night it was Elizabeth we danced in a country-western bar though I’ve never been to one before so my dream-brain conjured it wrong, empty and smelling inexplicably of oven-baked cookies.
we were salsa dancing to techno, and everyone but us were bears, but the point of it wasn’t accuracy; a dream is no documentary. we’d stopped to catch our breath and she’d looked at me, opened her mouth to say something, reached her hand towards mine and I’d barely, briefly felt the cool of her fingers on the back of my hand before I woke up in a much darker place.