It just fell on her from out of no where. Or perhaps it snuck up behind her when she hadn't been looking, but there were tears streaming down her face and she felt about twenty leagues deep. She walked through the mass of people. Busy shoppers buying. The apple she was clutching slipped from her hands and onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said, though no one had noticed. She left the supermarket without buying anything and walked to the next supermarket. It was her lonely evening ritual. There were 5 supermarkets within walking distance from her house and she would tour them, searching for something to buy, but finding nothing. Frequently, she openly wept, but no one said anything. Was it common for women to weep and wander as she did? Was it a sight the cashier were familiar with?

She peered into other people's carts: diapers, chocolates, vodka, dried mashed potatoes. Each item told a story. She was perennially between stories. She only had the absence of an existence, folding around her friends' life's or acting as a mirror.

Then her mood lightened and she smiled at babies and brushed her hair and thought about how happy she might one day be.