Except for the man with the only shopping trolley with the squeaky wheel and the woman skipping next to him holding a scribbled-on piece of paper, the store was completely empty. It was the first of November, the band making a not so quick visit to London before starting the next leg of the tour. Even without the cold weather keeping everyone home, Monday mornings were not the peak of the town's popularity. The wheel scraped around the corner, Angus considering grabbing a different cart. But as bread, cornflakes, heads of broccoli, and a carton of eggs were already taking up much of its space, he decided against transporting them. Hannah had ceased skipping, eyes glued to the paper in her hand.
"What's next?" he sighed rubbing his eyes. Did he mention it was seven on a Monday morning?
"Milk," she stated, double-checking the cart to see if it hadn't already been grabbed. Angus backed up the cart.
"I saw it a few aisles down, I'll get it," he said turning the cart as slowly as he could so the wheel wouldn't worsen his already throbbing head. Fuckin' hell it was fun spending his Sunday night in the bar. He wouldn't have drunk anything if the television showing a football game hadn't been fuzzy or if the music they played was worth listening to. But when your only company is the lead singer of your rock and roll band, what else do you expect to happen?
Hannah, as per usual, stayed at home nursing her fourth cuppa. The first three were gone without an issue, but the last one seemed to have sensed her worry at eleven at night and Angus still hadn't come home yet. Finally, around the stroke of midnight, the hotel door opened with a hardly shivering and slightly off-balance Angus McKinnon standing behind it. He bent over to pick up the keys he dropped on the floor when he was practically tackled to the ground in a hug. Maneuvering his way in the room was difficult with his girlfriend standing on his feet, arms squeezing what little life he had left in him. Accepting her hug with a hiccup, he excused himself to the bathroom to rid himself of the whiskey Bon ordered, cursing the man all the while.
Every milk bottle looked exactly the same. Why was it taking so long to pick one? Maybe it was his headache. Maybe it was his lost precious hours of sleep. Or maybe it was the song playing on the intercom. Not any worse than the rubbish played at the bar's jukebox last night, he chose to ignore it. Grabbing the closest one only finding it had been opened slightly by some prankster he put it back grabbing the second closest. This one had an invisible leak getting his hand soaking wet. He sighed, stepping away from the cart and grabbing one near the back, placing it with the rest of the food. The song kept playing. Shouldn't it have ended about three minutes ago?
Returning to the nut aisle, he found Hannah not to be where he left her. Knowing she wouldn't have a crowd of people to carry her off, he didn't worry too much. Snagging a few chocolate bars for himself and her, he wheeled his way down to the fruits where the smell took him to some tropical island at two in the afternoon, where he could sleep in and get room service from a pleasantly dressed-he stopped his thought before Hannah could read his mind and give him a piece of hers. She wasn't the jealous type, not at all. But she'd rather he not spend his time drooling all over their groceries.
An island...if only he were so lucky.
Taking a little of this and a little of that (mostly bananas and peaches), he made his way to the alcohol portion of the store. Just seeing the various labels soured his mood even more, and he turned around. Though it was nothing compared to the bottle-o back home. He had gone with Malcolm a few times, though despite all the newest additions and absurd flavors they sold he always ended up buying the same beer he'd been buying for God knows how many years now.
Without thinking he found his way back to the nut aisle and grabbed a few more candy bars. Perhaps he'd have more of an appetite later. Having no list to go off of, he wandered this way and that trying to remember what he had written on it the previous morning. Soft drinks he thought, and maybe...flour? Or sugar...he couldn't be sure. Better stock up on both.
