I can’t think of a single person in this town who knows what love is. Partnerships are transactional, predetermined and bland.

I stood under the flickering light that’s been flickering for at least a decade that I know of, in the small, and only grocery store in the town of Mars, Florida. I was fingering loaves of bread on the shelf, trying to pick the freshest, when my eyes wandered over to a couple at the end of the same aisle.

I wondered what pet names they called each other, if any. And did they have sex? Was there passion like in the movies, or was it a mundane, necessary habit like brushing your teeth? Is that all there was here? Does love exist? If so I want it. Fuck whatever this is.

“Excuse me,” a velvety, flat voice said from behind me, snapping me out of my trance-like state.

I smiled sheepishly, pivoting out of the way of the woman and man with dead eyes, so they could exit the bread aisle. I bet her “excuse me” was a cry for help.

I picked a plump load of sourdough from the shelf and headed for the checkout counter.