I don’t know what it is—the pristine floors, clean aisles, bustling lines at cash registers—something causes me to fall in love at every Publix I enter. Usually I’m only there for an item or two, but without fail I never leave without feeling like I just left the love of my life inside. It’s worse than an airport. I’ll see some girl buying granola, and that’s it—I’m hooked. Of course she likes granola. Because she’s perfect. Or there’s some beautiful girl waiting at the deli. She’s ordering a sub. We always buy the same thing—italian on that bread that looks like birdseed, Boar’s Head meats if I’m feeling rich. There’s another one waiting by the curb, her big watery eyes lugubriously panning the parking lot. She’s looking for me, the one man that could never hurt her and would pick flowers in fragrant sunny fields for her, only she doesn’t know what I look like, because we haven’t watched the right chick flicks to tell us just how terrible romantic love can work. Or maybe because we have, and she’s looking for someone with a louder laugh, bigger smile, and better hair than I have. Come back inside, my sweet. Together we’ll squeeze the avocados and thump the melons and check the prices per ounce on the orange juices. We’ll wander the aisles with woven hands, whispering how far away are the unquiet streets. We’ll raise the quarantine flag on our cart and ever sail the produce section, live out our love in the time of cauliflower. Come away, my Publix love.

(Source: gainesville.craigslist.org)