Tuesday held her head in her hands. Or she would had her hands not been in cuffs.
Bundled into the back of a police car she was filled with an obstinate rage. This was an injustice of the highest order.
She’d left the house this morning knowing full well what to expect, her socials had blown up yesterday...
Monday, that so-called week starter, weak starter more like, you know, like on a terrible, menu du jour, some cobbled together salad that has a ‘jus’ thrown on it and some artisanal grains scattered to make it look ‘tasty’.
Anyways, Monday had gone rogue. Off by himself. Always ideas above his station. Stupid wannabe Mountain Man.
Tuesday had read the headlines and made for the shops. There were people everywhere. Like ants at a dropped piece of gum.
Trolleys, buckled, broken, wobbling wheels, all were in use. Some with tokens jammed - most with anything people could find wedged in the slots. Global currency. Tuesday had elbowed her way through the crowds. Past those scurrying for powdered milk and skirting around those baying over Goji berry compress.
Tuesday had made for the tinned aisle. Non-perishables. Toilet roll? Get out! She would use leaves if she had to. Had done before. Not proud but the night after too much Cremant and that dodgy pasta had left her no choice. She had done it before and could do it again. The tinned aisle was reasonably busy, more people buying fresh fruit than tinned mandarins.
More fool them.
She had reached for a tin of peeled tomatoes. Not the cheapest, nor the most highly priced. A level at which she had become accustomed. Someone else went for the same can.
There were many more on the shelf, so heaven knows why this one was more important.
The other tin-lover was not letting go. Nor was Tuesday. This on an otherwise lovely day.
Tuesday’s vision went reddish. Her ears began to fizz. She was mad as hell. This stranger, in her space, taking her tin. She swung with her left arm and connected with a soft spot. There was a crack and then the tin shook loose from the other’s grip. She had not even seen the white’s of their eyes.
And the other form crumbled and dropped to the ground.
Tuesday took off, grabbing a few more tins as she went. A crowd had formed around the person she’d struck. Bent doubled-over. Red pouring from where one would guess a nose had been. The crowd looked toward her and a few gave chase.
One alerted a policeman.
Tuesday panicked and made for the exit. Forgetting she had neither declared her goods nor paid for them.
The sensors tripped the alarm, the noise tripped her balance and she tumbled down, just 3 metres outside the store. She fell hard. Scraping her knees and forearms.
The tins peeling off in all directions. Under foot, under shelves, underwhelming.
The policeman stood over her. Stern look, angry words.
She was hauled to her feet. Read the riot act. Cuffed and thrown in the back of the police car as the radio cackled and crackled.
“Violent offender in ******** supermarket... incident in tinned goods. Assistance required.”
Tuesday held her head in her hands, at least she would...
