Linda pulls into the parking lot in a dust-poor, green Subaru sports utility vehicle. She wears a Nebraska sweater on her thin frame and her hair pulled to the side with a beret makes her appear a sweet old lady. A car passes spraying the Subaru with the rainy day storm surge of a puddle. She has enough to afford gas for the vehicle but has nevertheless taken on the look of the recession. She enlists the help of windsheild wipers and turns a corner onto a busier street.
She pulls into the drive through of an Arby’s restaurant that twists like the arm of a hurricane, and orders food. The electrons of the telegraph speaker unintelligent grit, learned grit bringing out the static voice from the attendant in the narrow drive-through window. The attendant asks if Linda unknown by her name, will donate to childhood hunger. The arm of the hurricane twists again, and she finds herself at the drive through window where she shares out a credit card with the restaurant and maybe hidden somewhere in that, a hungry child. It is necessary love in the storm.
The Aldi pulls in customers, the sliding doors opening with some electronic muscle is god-hope lights particles beckoning to the atomic dots of scattered buyers, in the massive inner arm of the hurricane, one customer secreting a jar of salted peanuts, another spriting away chocolate chip cookies, drawn close by the narrow aisle, huddled in steel cages of shopping carts that seem humanity crowded together in fear-waves of terror, arms linked riding out the fury.
The aisle twists again turning onto the center of the store, the eye of the storm, a wave of peace where vegetables lay flat on low stands, the waist high freezers laying like waste aside, it is a little place that suggests that nothing to lose is everything to gain. It is the miracle of hope returned to the roughed shoppers.
The giant storm electron-particle collider of fury begins again, creates waves of strange quantum energies as the customers ride out the travel in the returning wave of panic, turned to peace, turned to panic again, riding out the any waves. Freezers and shelves alernately close on the carts. The storm battered move with experience, each showing their food stamp cards at the cash register, small rectangular signs of outside caring as they slowly line up in peaceful procession having cemented caring between themselves. Joined in the intense bond of survivors, they make their way.
Linda appears in a weightless orbit in the green Subaru. She has visited the shared intelligence of the public library and has books on tape with her. She travels a busy street and then glides into the parking lot. The day ends in peace.