In the middle of the night, I stood in the middle of the Sobey’s parking lot.

A plastic bag was slowly being blown all the way across the parking lot. It was puffed out with wind and it rolled like a barrel through the air. Once in a while it would dip down and touch the pavement: scuff.

I watched it until it reached the edge of the nearly empty lot–scuff; scuff. Then it flew up over the sidewalk and into the street.

“Hey whassup.”

I looked behind me. “‘Whassup Joey.”

It was Joey Junior from the Marquee. I fell in with him and we started walking towards the front door of the supermarket. “I was just saying to myself, now who could that be standing by himself in the middle of the parking lot.”

The parking lot at night is a smoothly undulating surface. Streetlights illuminate its non-Euclidean grid of intersecting white lines.

“Yeah,” I said. “I was just thinking a few things over.”