Cultured

I took a right into the dairy aisle and spent a moment looking at the processed cheese slices. Memories of throwing the soft, yellow squares at school lockers to see if they’d stick surfaced and receded. They weren’t what I was there for. I made my way to the wild berry yogurt. I could see it, its illustrated red and purple berries beckoned to me but I couldn’t reach them. A man whose face was struck with bewilderment and anger stood in the way, a cellphone pressed to his ear. He turned to me, looked right into my eyes and screamed “Motherfucker, I’m a beast, I’ll kick everyone of your fucking asses” then took off down the aisle, a sea of expletives in his wake. I grabbed my wild berry yogurt.