stung.
At the end of the aisle, I turned once. She was speaking to the supervisor, pointing toward the upper shelf with a firmness I liked. She had been frightened; I had felt it in her grip. But she was not waiting for someone else to explain what had happened to her.
I found another tomato, replaced the damaged one, and tried to remember what else I needed. My list was on my phone, but I kept looking at it without reading. It was a strangely pleasant kind of distraction.
