The 30-something guy in front of me at the market last night had the saddest shopping ever - seven or eight frozen dinners, a loaf of premade garlic bread, a bag of sour Skittles that he picked up at the last second, and a bottle of cheap wine. To add insult to injury, the checker said, "You're over 21, right?" and then kept right on ringing stuff up as he was eagerly pulling out his wallet to prove it. I sort of wanted to bring him here for a home-cooked meal.
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