Looping Aisles at the Grocery Store by the Highway

Looping Aisles at the Grocery Store by the Highway

I dreamed I was at the grocery store after work, the same one by the highway, except the aisles kept looping back to produce. I had my phone out texting my partner that I was grabbing milk, but the messages wouldn’t send. Then I saw my old coworker from the last job, the one I used to linger with in the break room. He was holding a cart like it was ours. We started talking like we’d planned this, and I felt that guilty warmth in my chest, like I was already late getting home. The fluorescent lights were too bright. I kept checking my ring, which felt loose. He leaned in to say something about a hotel near the office, but it came out as asking if I still took the 6:40 train. I wanted to leave and also didn’t. When I finally found the exit, my partner was waiting in the parking lot with the engine running, looking tired, and I couldn’t remember if I’d actually done anything or just thought about it.