Cracked Window

I can find just about anything at my neighborhood Safeway grocery. That was my reaction while perusing its modest books section for the first time. Romance novels pack the shelves, though some titles hawk a niche form of lust.

Romance novels apparently have sub-genres, including what I cynically classify as the rich-dominating-studs-knock-me-up category. Take these titles that caught my perverse eye:

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I wrote recently about the fertile ground my neighborhood Safeway provides for observing people and things I’d otherwise never see. Passing through its doors makes me suddenly alive to the world.

That’s not what I was thinking this afternoon as I trudged through ice-encrusted snow to the grocery. Soon after entering, I saw a tall young man who looked familiar. Is that an actor from the HBO series Six Feet Under? The guy who played the the whacked-out character Billy?

Can’t be, I thought, as I watched him and two companions head for the deli counter. I moved closer. He spoke to one of two companions. The voice was unmistakable.

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I live between two Portland groceries stores a mile apart. But shopping at them feels like visiting different countries. Whole Foods to the north is organic, expensive, and attracts a well-scrubbed crowd. Safeway to the north is cheaper, bigger, and attracts more diverse clientele.

Both meet my consumer needs. But during trips to Safeway, I observe things that stick with me. They’re not momentous. They don’t give deep insight into anything. Still, they stand out, as if illuminated on stage.

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