I have fallen head over heels with my Rainbow checkout clerk, Jerome. Jerome smells of Lysol and is a guineas at math. The florescent lights at the supermarket encircle his angle head like a halo when I look up at him. I like that his name tag reads his full name. JEROME all dignifiedish. No short casual nicknames like Jerry or Jer or Q. He knows every word to the 90's musac, my JEROME does. I try to engage him in conversation as I worship his check out isle, but all he has to say to the likes of me is, "That will be 8.23 please. Out of a twenty? 11.17 is your change. You saved .37 cents by shopping at Rainbow."
(I told you he was a math genus.) How my aching heart yearns for him to push our cart off into the sunset with me.
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