Shopping After the Apocalypse | Jessie Carty
You throw a small stone across the gas station parking lot.
You wait what you feel is a reasonable amount of time.
You should get a watch. You had grown too used to your cell phone as the keeper of your time.
Inside the convenience store, you prepare lunch from the still stocked shelves: a bag of pretzels, a can of tuna, a bottled water.
You pick up a road map.
You pack toilet paper, baby wipes, cans of Beanee Weenee, Beefaroni, chips, and more pretzels.
You used to avoid pretzels because you worried about eating carbs.
You are near the intersection of an interstate and a four-lane road.
You decide against the interstate.