There was something weird about being in a supermarket at 2 am. Part of him wasn’t sure whether he was really awake or this was just one of those dreams that haunt you for years to come because they aren’t really nightmares but create this weird feeling.
Fillipe was alone in the aisle, standing in front of the ramen and couldn't decide. Why was he even here? What had happened to his shirt? Hadn't he already gone grocery shopping yesterday at a more reasonable hour? Wait. His shirt. He was pretty sure he had worn a shirt when he had left the house. Why wasn’t he wearing his shirt anymore? He looked around in the hope that maybe it was just lying around somewhere (it wasn’t) and sighed in disappointment. Something buzzed in his shoe. Fillipe vaguely remembered putting his phone in his boot so it wouldn’t be damaged in the fight. It took him a moment to catch up with his thoughts. Fight. He had been in a fight. Oh. Ooooh! The realization of how he had ended up here, why his head hurt so much and even why he was half-naked hit him like a baseball bat in the stomach. And yes, he was allowed to make that comparison. It had happened.
He wondered if this would become a normal occurrence. Maybe this wasn’t the best career choice. Dragging his feet he made his way towards the exit. Only outside with the chilling night air in his lungs, he noticed that he had grabbed a carton of ice cream on his way out. Raspberry. He didn’t like raspberry. He hadn’t paid for this. Not like it was the worst crime he had committed that night.
Tired and with the thought that he should probably call in sick for today nagging at the back of his mind, the young villain sauntered through the dark streets towards home.