the queen who used to work in the italian cafe-bakery beside the fish monger is now one of the check-out guys in our local rite aid. he chats me up like i’m one of his buddies as he rings my items until the price scanner refuses to read the box of fiber packets. he yells for the manager overhead and starts to tap the largest key in his grimy keyboard. in my growing discomfort, i tell him “it must be the universe telling me to just eat right.” he taps and taps and taps and then gave me this look.