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No browsing, no basket, no list tonight.

I make the avocados tumble from pyramidal piles. A case of Corona, cheese with jalapenos, bagged together on the street with the rain. The longnecks kiss my knuckles with their cold on the way home.

I’ve forgotten the limes. Only naked-necked bottles of Corona, no limes. I won’t fold fajitas without a citrus squeeze over the meat. A new receipt. Holding the cold case, both hands, a thigh.

This city moves so fast; these clocks wear thin. I can’t move through the motions without a list. I’ll, each time, forget the limes.

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