They closed the grocery store on the corner. Something about a messy disagreement. It was a 6-minute walk from my apartment. Just enough sidewalk for two songs or so. Signs of their shutdown began late October. Emptier aisles and demoralized employees. The lights are off and the doors are locked now but they reassured me they'll be back. Still it feels like a small death in the neighborhood. I'd grown accustomed to stopping there on the way home from work. Last winter it was two zucchinis, a box of white mushrooms and anything else I felt like burning in my kitchen that night. The attempt felt noble at least. Gave me something to boast about during phone calls home. Reassurance I was "doing okay." My mom kept insisting that I cook. "It's so easy. Don't complicate it." Felt like a metaphor for something. I set off the fire alarm again. But our tiny apartment was vulnerable. That’s what I told myself. The low ceilings and poor air circulation. Less people to disturb when you’re on the ground floor. Our door is sticky so the sound of the wood against the tile almost outweighs the insufferable beeping. My wafting efforts in the doorway were never enough though. Better to remove the device from the wall entirely and wait for the smoke to clear.
