Dissociate

“Except for human decency.” She muttered, carefully pulling her card from a small pocket on the front of her slicker. 

“Must be sold out.” He said under his breath, but her icy glare was her response. 

    The man next in line loaded five bundles of toilet paper onto the conveyor belt, followed by a case of water bottles. His shopping cart was packed with flats of canned foods, hand sanitizer and bactine, bottles of cleaning supplies and an entire tube of jerky. He was a large man with a stained beer shirt, trucker hat, and saggy, denim jeans held up by worn out suspenders, and he breathed heavily.

“Don’t worry, kid. A mask ain’t gonna save ya from the Dem’s Plandemic. It’s already bein’ transmitted via 5G. Yer best bet is to stock up and lock down.” He coughed into his hand and wiped it onto his dirty jeans. “Libtards were plannin’ on using this to turn people into gays but it backfired. Now they got everybody in a panic, just ‘cause some asian folk got sick eatin’ bats. Serves ‘em right, the commies.”

“Do you have any coupons?” Stan asked, slightly strained having seen the man cough heavily into his hand. He eyed the hand sanitizer preemptively. 

The man pulled out some sweaty bills from his pocket. “No coupons, that’s a woman's game. I believe in this economy and I don’t take no hand outs.” The man coughed again, this time flinging spittle onto Stan’s unaware face. Stan handed the man his receipt.

“Thanks for shopping at Grocery Mart, your one stop shop for all you grocery needs.”

    The man eyeballed him suspiciously and bagged his groceries. 

   

    When Stan got home, hours later, he shouldered open the uneven door to his apartment. He could hear the dripping faucet from the bathroom, the neighbors arguing next door, and from the alley behind his studio, he could hear a feral cat screaming for sex. Stan threw his bag by the door and fell into his single recliner, kicking off his shoes and pulling up the leg rest. He turned on the tv, which had gone into sleep mode while he was gone, and flicked mindlessly through the four channels until settling on a commercial. There was nothing to watch. His stomach growled. Stan leaned back and looked toward the fridge, before deciding to order a pizza and beer from his phone. He checked his bank account before, it was his last twenty-five dollars, but he considered it already spent. An hour later, he ate the pizza from the box, and guzzled cheap beer to the sound of his and his neighbors tv in a near constant battle for loudness. Outside, sirens wailed in the distance.

   

    The loud and abrasive beeping of his alarm clock woke him from sleep. He was hunched and knotted in the recliner, having cuddled with the empty pizza box. He jumped, knocking a mostly empty beer can onto the floor. Stan’s head was pounding, the light seeping in the window was blinding. He rolled onto the floor and crawled towards the alarm clock, now deafening. Stan slapped it, hard, but it didn't turn off. He hit it a few more times before finally unplugging it and tossing it aside, then laid on his back, half on the bed and half off, closed his eyes and laid in the silent darkness.

    When he opened them again, he checked his phone. It’s nearly dead and newly cracked. Stan stared at it for a long time, until it warned him of 5% battery and faded to black. He was almost late for work. He put his arms down at his sides and felt a sharp pain, his fingers reached into his armpits. There were bumps that nestled deeply in his armpit hair. Stan lifted his shirt, slowly, to find tiny black mole-like growths.

    He pushed himself up, and slipped his ruddy shoes back on. Before he left, he looked around until he found his phone charger and slipped it into his backpack. One last, heavy sigh, then he opened the door. The light is blinding and suddenly the noise from the street is overwhelming. Sweat began to sprout from his forehead but still he made his way to the stairs. Stan coughed, his throat was one fire and his head was pounding. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs to catch his breath. I should call in. He thought to himself as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He clicked the button on the side, but it didn’t even turn on.