She selected a tomato from the top of the bin. The firm state of the thing and its color gave it value. Erin's sauce had a reputation, and choice tomatoes laid the foundation for her modern epicurial bastion. Some, she fancied, even believed it could cure illness. In anticipation of praise, she walked a fine line between demanding perfection from her tomato base and being a totalitarian with genocide on the brain. Some tomatoes deserved a special place, others were pushed aside.

Had she been a complete dictator, she would hurl the vagabond produce from a high cliff into the ocean. This one, she thought while holding another, is not fit to live. Her human weakness made her set it down carefully instead of smashing it there and then, as an example.

She hated to think what would happen if she was thrown out of Hennen's. She saved the tomato selection for last. With fourteen ripe specimens, she hauled the old wobbly cart to checkout. The total looked outrageous if you'd never had the sauce. The left front wheel squeaked as she parked the cart right next to the baggage boy, a dark young fellow, not black but far from fair.

He smiled and she smiled back. The auto ringer heralded another customer. The bag boy waved. She prefered to keep her eyes on the boy. Maybe Middle Eastern, she thought. He had dazzling white teeth, strong black hair and a clean complexion. She wondered his age, and decided on twenty-two for decency's sake. God forbid she think those thoughts about a teenager.

She rolled out, squeaking. She located the 2006 Mazda and popped the back. She packed the ingredients and a wall of air knocked her down. Her skin relayed bad information to her brain. She smelled oven cleaner. Her ears rang. Her eyes watered. She breathed smoke and fumes.

She roled onto her back, seeing the store window broken and spitting flames. I didn't hear a sound, she thought, I didn't hear a sound. She spent the next eternity crying into the concrete.

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