It's so hard doing this. I need to be there, Lexi, to do this shit.
The wind whistled outside the supermarket, its pitch constant and wavering, located somewhere above the automatic doors. It was impossible to detect exactly where it was coming from. The branches of potted trees were pushed around in every direction like people in a mosh pit and sent swirling when the whistle soared.
It was a stark contrast to the air that stagnated during the humid day before and I looked on at the spot where a woman with dementia had sat in one of the metallic chairs, occasionally looked on by her carer, who sat a little further away on a low wooden bench to smoke a cigarette. The woman had tapped me on my elbow in the supermarket, as she held onto her carer's arm. I was unable to make out what she said, her speech impaired. The woman smiled and turned away after I said, "Yes," and, "Nice to see you." I didn't know what else to say.
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