The light bulbs unleash fluorescent yawns. Fixed at high altitudes, they watch the shoppers navigate the maze. Tired sausage feet shuffle against linoleum. A collective sigh journeys through stale air. The ketchup bottles weep.

A wobbly girl stands in the pharmacy section. She is 14, with a grapefruit face and spaghetti legs. Her eyes squint at the pristine wall of feminine products, all rectangles and cylinders. She remembers geometry homework.

A few aisles over, a boy contemplates the latex. He wonders about the texture – sticky, he supposes. Stray, misplaced hairs gather the sweat rolling like canned peas down his cushiony face. The latex taunts him from behind finger-print-stained glass. No one had told him these things came in sizes.

Boy and girl make their way to the express checkout lane. Two sets of feet pedal furiously. Two sets of hands clutch perfectly packaged contraband.

Each stares at their chosen products, becoming momentarily unaware of the oncoming traffic. Just steps away from the checkout line, boy and girl collide. Cardboard boxes ricochet off each other and fall to the ground. Each stares shamefully at the other’s cargo.

The light bulbs howl as boy and girl collect their belongings and proceed to different checkout lanes. The Cheerios gossip. The tabloids listen to the rhythm of footsteps. The automatic doors open and close.

Erin Little can be reached at [email protected]