Late thirties, early forties. About six foot. Dark, curly hair. Nice looking. He was just standing there, with his hands in his pockets. Staring at all the boxes of cereal. Like he was in a museum, admiring the art.
I glanced at his cart. Empty. Strange, I thought. Cereal’s in the middle of the store. Nobody comes just for cereal. You’d think he’d at least have a head of lettuce in there. Or a bag of those little carrots. Or an apple or two. Produce is right where you come in. Who doesn’t pick up something fresh?
Sure, I was intrigued. Wouldn’t you be? I had to stick around and watch him for a bit. There we were. Me, looking at him. Him looking at cereal boxes. I became so engrossed I forgot I wanted a box of oatmeal.