Forty

El’s protests fall on deaf ears, I step out of the car and make my way to the door she stepped out from. Someone in that supermarket upset my wife. I need to have a conversation with that fucking someone. 

The chill air hits first, my hands slide into my pockets for warmth. Haven’t they heard of heaters? I take a tentative step forward, scanning the row of shelves holding groceries and other food items. The inside is smaller than outside, the place is empty except for the lady behind the counter chewing gum like a fool. 

Turning on my charm, I walk over to her and smile. Her cheeks pink, I fight the urge to roll my eyes as my hands rest on the flat surface. If she was my staff, she would be fired for her lack of professionalism. 

“Hey,” I say, finger tracing a line on the wooden surface.

“Heyyy,” she replies, “what can I do for you today?” 

Her tone is suggestive, her accent is sim