If you go to the grocery store at 1:30am, they're restocking the toilet paper and pasta. Grab them fresh off the pallet. I wanted a 16-roll pack but the box of those is still shrink-wrapped at the bottom, underneath a bunch of other boxes. I settle for four. They're on top.
Only one checkout is open but the line is short. The self-checkout is closed. Each of my items is picked up off the conveyor by the lady, scanned, then passed back to me to place in my bag. Right before she scanned my first item she dramatically wiped her nose with her bare hand. I winced. The two white emo girls behind me in line are buying alcohol and talking to each other in Korean.
Tomorrow it will rain and I'll consider resubscribing to Netflix.
Tonight, it is cool and dry, and the streets are quiet as I walk home. But it is nearly two, after all. In the middle of the week.
I get home and wash my hands. Stay up a few more hours, long enough to read the new day's news from the East Coast papers. Long enough for a friend back East to wake up and respond to my text from earlier in the evening about Tom Hanks. We have somewhat of a running joke about people named Tom. Her dad's name is Tom.