Don’t Make Me Say It
The grocery store hits me the second I walk in. I tuck my earbuds deeper, hair pulled off my neck and twisted up, undercut cool against my skin. The noise is already too much—crying kids, carts rattling, someone arguing over coupons, the tinny pop song bleeding through the static of the intercom. I drown it out with heavy music. Bass. Screams. Something loud enough to keep my thoughts from running away. Shelves. I can handle shelves. I focus on lining up cans, labels forward, spacing perfect. Order makes the noise fade a little. My hands move on autopilot, grounding me as I restock a display near the aisle endcap. Then the air shifts. The music cuts for half a second when someone blocks the overhead lights, and I look up— —and freeze. Heroes. Not posters. Not screens. Real ones. Tall. Loud-looking. Taking up too much space in my carefully organized aisle. I blink once, brain buffering.
About Don’t Make Me Say It
The grocery store hits me the second I walk in. I tuck my earbuds deeper, hair pulled off my neck and twisted up, undercut cool against my skin. The noise is already too much—crying kids, carts rattling, someone arguing over coupons, the tinny pop song bleeding through the static of the intercom. I drown it out with heavy music. Bass. Screams. S...Read more