This is one in a series of short stories I've been writing during my own coronavirus quarantine. You can find the complete collection of fiction written especially for this blog here. My books are available on the Amazon Kindle, for sale or for reading via Kindle Unlimited.
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When the first lockdown hit, we were scared but not careful.
When the second lockdown hit, we were careful but not scared.
When the third lockdown hit, we were neither.
After months of avoiding stores, of having Friday date nights delivered and becoming chummy with the Amazon driver, I finally went out to get Thanksgiving dinner ingredients on Sunday.
The store isn’t a chain. It’s a one-off. Half the floor is dedicated to fruits and vegetables. The signs not only tell you what you’re buying but where it comes from. The selection is fabulous. The prices are good.
I barely thought about how crowded it was inside. Outside, there was a sign insisting the store recycled its air every few minutes. Everyone seemed to be wearing a mask. But I wasn’t everywhere at once.
When I went to pay, I found the strangest thing. There was a line to reach the checkouts. It seemed all my neighbors felt like I did, they were desperate to get out, to do something that was normal. I got behind a cart, opened my phone, and waited. I figured, the line must be because they’re limiting traffic inside the checkouts, which is in a separate room, with a low ceiling.
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