Organizing the honey. Viscous nectar trapped in a jar, much like my intellect in this aisle.

Checking the scales in produce. Measuring the weight of things that ultimately mean nothing.

Scanning a bag of rice. Tiny grains, an ocean of insignificance.

Cleaning the cheese slices. Individual layers of dairy, wrapped in plastic, like tiny, edible tombs.

Rearranging the bread. Yeast-risen dough, waiting to turn stale, much like my enthusiasm.

Checking the freshness of the milk. White liquid approaching its inevitable sour end.

Organizing the soup cans. Warmth in a tin, a temporary shield against the chill.

Cleaning the cheese slices. Individual layers of dairy, wrapped in plastic, like tiny, edible tombs.

Scanning a bottle of vinegar. Acidic liquid to preserve things, though nothing preserves a soul.

Tidying the pasta sauce. Red liquid in glass, waiting to be consumed by creatures doomed to dust.

Refilling the sugar bowls. Granulated crystals of energy for creatures moving in circles.

Scanning a bag of flour. Fine white powder, the building block of useless carbohydrates.

Checking the scales in produce. Measuring the weight of things that ultimately mean nothing.

Stacking the frozen pizzas. Pre-packaged meals for those too tired to actually live.

Organizing the chocolate bars. High-calorie escapes from the crushing weight of reality.

Restocking the crisps. Salty, crunchy air in a bag, a hollow snack for hollow people.

Scanning a box of cereal. A breakfast of champions, if your championship is merely surviving the morning.

Scanning a pack of sausages. Meat in a casing, a grotesque loop of biological necessity.

Refilling the breadcrumbs. Tiny fragments of something that used to be whole.

Scanning a bottle of vinegar. Acidic liquid to preserve things, though nothing preserves a soul.

Cleaning the deli counter. A greasy sheen of meat, a testament to the messiness of life.

Wiping a spill in the juice aisle. A sticky puddle of fructose, a small, sweet tragedy on the linoleum.

Sorting the canned corn. Yellow kernels preserved in liquid, a tiny, golden mausoleum.

Stacking the canned peaches. Fruit in syrup, suspended in a sugary, eternal stasis.

Scanning a pack of sausages. Meat in a casing, a grotesque loop of biological necessity.

Standing in the breakroom. A small, windowless room for small, windowless thoughts.

Stacking the canned peaches. Fruit in syrup, suspended in a sugary, eternal stasis.

Scanning a bag of rice. Tiny grains, an ocean of insignificance.

Wiping a spill in the juice aisle. A sticky puddle of fructose, a small, sweet tragedy on the linoleum.

Organizing the soup cans. Warmth in a tin, a temporary shield against the chill.