When you are minding your own business, thinking only of the pasta in the plastic box. Your are thinking about how many steps you have walked today and whether the fried dough ball will make it to the end of play today.

And then there it is, unexpected, relaxed in glorious wonder colour. Your breath stops and cannot find its way out of your chest, every step towards that counter, towards that small white box, feels like moving through treacle. You want to turn your head and stare, stare and stare at this beauty but your eyes are fixed on the prize that you longer have an interest in. Then you have to quickly calculate, how many minutes can I bear to be in space and the avoid the lukewater and lacklustre. Three minutes. Three minutes. Three minutes to melt. Three minutes to watch without watching. Three minutes, three minutes to act like I don’t care, three minutes to pretend, that the inner world is so much more amusing, enticing, lovely. Three minutes. And then the bell rings and I am released.


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