“I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well. We’re not allowed to buy blackberries anymore because they’re mean to their workers and you read left-wing news sites. Till when? I asked and you said nothing. So that’s one healthy food off the list. I’m still buying pineapples and you’re still eating them. I guess you’ve never seen the websites about those. Nobody in this supermarket knows that I am a puma. This morning our cat rolled on the floor showing me her belly which I leaned down and rubbed. Beneath a backyard pine tree the neighbor’s cat was eating one of our cat’s moles—at least the moles we rent from the landlord for her. It’s so complicated staying alive sometimes. The voices of the collection agencies on the answering machine sound menacing. They’re paid to sound that way and they’re not paid much more than the people they’re menacing, which can get you thinking if you’re the sort of person who likes to think about that sort of thing. Other people subscribe to adventure cycling magazines and read about men who rode across Turkey in the late 1800s before anything was happening in the world. Before cantaloupes probably existed. When you could get an honest wage for an honest day’s blackberries. When we loved like fierce mountain storms, with the blood of eagles in our hearts, exchanging grocery lists that just said you you you you all the way down.”