market
He was in the market. He knew he had to go there. It was necessary for his survival. He knew he could survive without it. He was not so sure, but he had to go. There was no better explanation for it. He simply had to let himself go through the motions. He could do that now, even though he didn’t have an answer. That was his answer.
His body moved through the streets and reached its destination, while his mind was still searching. His body knew its way; his mind didn’t.
He walked through the aisles. What was he looking for? He knew that whatever it was, it wasn’t here. He just went through his motions; he completed them. He wanted to be sure that he ritualized his routine. He did that.
His body enjoyed his usual maneuvers. The difference was the internal story. The story accompanying his actions was different. How could it be?
He avoided the people; he couldn’t look at them. He couldn’t look at their faces, at their eyes. Was he ashamed? He knew he carried something in him. Something heavy. Something he wouldn’t be able to explain. A world that, yet, he wouldn’t be able to fit into theirs. He was ashamed.
While in the queue, he thought to himself: What am I doing here? What are we doing here? Why does this so normal activity feel so abnormal? Should I just leave? How would it look if I just leave my basket and walk out?
It was his turn. He removed his headphones and landed on earth. He went through his memorized moves and took off again. He didn’t know where he flew. His body and his mind took different ways once again.