Aisle 14, Pallet of Tuna

Forty-eight cans, shrink-wrapped, a brick of silver fish pressed flat as a hymnal. I do not need forty-eight cans. I need to believe in the version of me who will one day need them — the one with a pantry, a system, a life arranged in rows. I put it in the cart. She is coming. I am stocking up for her.