My host takes me into the narrow, winding, crowded corridors of the supermarket, holding my hand tightly to ensure that I'm not lost among the sounds, the smells, and the vibrant, rich, exotic colors of the brightly lit aisles. A necessary precaution, it turns out, as things demand my attention from all sides: the white, tiled, slightly dirty floors, the narrow passageways occasionally made narrower by boxes of produce yet to be shelved, and the wrenching and shoving from people pushing through to their various inscrutable destinations. People in jeans, hoodies, and light jackets inspect produce and reject or accept it for mysterious reasons. The occasional employee pulls boxes out of a damp, dark, dank storage room and then pushes them about on a palette cart that has been painted a lush blue.
At the butcher station, a young man with a sharp knife actually carves into animal carcasses before buyers' eyes as they shout their desired cuts at him: such unusual, surprising choices as "deli sliced" or "hank." The aroma of raw flesh combines with the waftings of the bakery nearby to produce a confusing, enticing, almost erotic sensory jumble.
This is where the European goes to buy his food, to socialize, to argue, and, when a sample counter appears somewhere among the well-trodden paths, even to eat.
blakekathryn
2087
discoholicmusic
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
izzy806
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
