supermarket days.you imprint on them sometimes. the customers. you don't ever mean for it to happen (it's certainly not mentioned in any policy handbooks, for sure), but somehow, it does.
sometimes, it's their mistakes that catch you. maybe they come through your line twice, after they forget something. they duck their heads and look up at you sheepishly through shy bangs, wanting to see if you remember. maybe they forget their wallets and dash out to the car, narrowly missing getting run over in the process. no matter what, there's a smile. always, always they return, cheeks rosy from the jog, ears pink from something else. it's a little catching; after they leave, you cup your earsthey're warm.
once, it was in a customer's hair. soft and curling in every shade of chocolate, loosely spiraling over the most beautiful pair of shoulders you'd ever seen, drooped like a seagull preparing flight, thinning out from the blades like half-turned commas. that bobbing head pauses, then disappears down aisle