the man with the backwards baseball cap
visits the same grocery store
every thursday, buys exactly three items,
and then leaves quietly. he doesn't want
to cause any problems.

"always the same old thing", he says to
the undercover cop posing as the
lady at the check out counter - it's quite odd
for him to tell her this because he's been gone already
for over five hours and she doesn't speak
english anyway.

meanwhile, on the other side of aisle six,
a woman discovers something is very
wrong.

"this won't be the last you hear from me." she
yells defiantly into the camera. the director
yells cut, but going through the motions
has become all too natural and unfortunately
the caterer has brought only egg salad sandwiches
for lunch. they wash this down with ink from a nearby
quill and, though the timing is perfect, no one seems too
happy about it.

I can't say I blame them. But secretly, I do and,
publicly, it's all their fault anyway. It was, of course,
the fourth and final time we ever heard from the
women on the other side of the aisle. We write
her letters every week, but the man at the post
office says he won't deliver them.

"I won't deliver them", says the man at the post office.

Who is this man? Does he work here? Jim's head
swirled with questions. I, myself, had already finished
that portion of the test and had exited the room,
carrying my own books, and coughing discreetly
at intervals of two.