— ?

         ‘ you know better. don’t touch. ’ the table is wider than he thinks it is, so what should be a simple arm-stretch turns into a full upper body lie-down. he captures his notebook with the tips of his fingers and swipes it away from summer, right off the side and onto the floor. ‘ i write my jokes in there and they are all about you. ’

         ‘ are you unusually tall or have i begun to sink into the floor? ’ he pauses partway through his next word as if to consider his own question (and definitely to press his toes into the floor to check for give). ‘ o--ooor am i shrinking prematurely? ’

         ‘ any establishment with fluorescent lighting and tight aisles is a panic attack waiting to happen, isn’t it. ’ he’s got a death grip on his cart, though, so he’s clearly at an advantage. skin stretched tight across his knuckles, sweat gathering between his palms and the steering. he’s doing great! ‘ wrapped neatly in red and called target feels a bit on the nose. ’

this is one of those tiny misunderstandings that pitches harish’s worldview into a tailspin. he stands looking like a fish out of water for too long or not long at all  ---  god’s sake, don’t ask him  ---  and touches down only when he spots something familiar.

his yellow notebook. he points at it.

         ‘ i’m sorry, have you been sitting here long? i’m not asking you to leave. i’d just like to be sure that’s mine before i take off with it. ’