Washed

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Washed

The cashier smiles and hands him the receipt. More money spent. Walking away from the store he checks the paper bag's contents. Two frozen pizzas, pirogis, chicken, knock off store brand hotdogs, milk, chocolate, and a donation to the local food shelf. Squinting his eyes against the bright light from outside he began walking home.

It wasn't a long walk: 10 or so minutes at most. But it felt like forever, clutching the bag to his chest, thoughts flustered, he stared at the ground as he walked past groups of people clustered on the street corners. It was a gorgeous day out, and there were plenty of people ready to enjoy it, smiling, laughing, all pleased as punch to be alive.

The fierce wind blowing across the lake whipped his unkempt hair across his face. Lashing one of his eyes repeatedly and forcing him to close it whenever a gust picked up. Sighing, he kept thinking. This impentrable feeling of sadness awash over him. With no reason known to him, he couldn't figure out why he felt this way. Was it lack of endorphines recently? The chocolate he had bought should assist. Was it human contact and interaction? No, just yesterday he had shared a drink with a boss and coworker, and the night before engaged in a team trivia night. Lost in thought he kept thinking.

Navigating the narrow one way side streets and thining crowds, the residence called "home" loomed before him. Readjusting the bag, now softening from the dampness of the frozen items at the edges, he climbed the stairs. Fumbling the key a few times, he opened his door and walked in. Noting his flatmate's shoes still strewn casually across the doormat, he sighed and pulled off his own before putting away his groceries. Satisfied with the amount of effort expended to go to the store, he heard his bedroom calling him. Without hesitation he walked in and fell onto his bed. Closing his eyes and pulling the covers over once more.

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