If he was still living at home, and his mother picked up on his mood, she’d get out the big soup pot and fill it with chicken, onions, carrots, celery, sweet potatoes, and parsnips. In a short time the fragrant smell of homemade chicken soup would permeate the house. Damn if he didn’t miss it. Today he would make do with canned soup and mac and cheese from a box. Despite its small size, the market offered an impressive number of items. The shelves were packed to the gills with food, and useful items like toilet paper and napkins. There was usually high traffic, but not tonight. Jonah walked down an aisle and narrowly missed stepping on a box of crackers. Ahead of him, some young punk in jeans and a leather jacket was walking with his arm stretched out, knocking boxes off the shelves. “Hey,” Jonah called out, but the kid disappeared around the corner. Jonah shrugged it off. He hated confrontation. Rounding the aisle, he saw the punk and a ponytailed buddy pointing at a dark exotic-looking man and laughing.
