Shane pauses by the cake cooler. There's a spread of 5 fancy decorated cakes under sign that declares they are all made fresh at a local bakery.
He typically does not look at the cakes because he likes cake and what's the point of tempting himself with something he can't have. What's the point?
What's the fucking point to anything?
He walks away from the case with the triple chocolate fudge cake in his cart.
Because whats the fucking point?
In the chip aisle he adds two bags of salt and pepper chips, doritos, and spicy cheetos. The bright red ones that are full of preservatives and look fucking unnatural.
He had never even tried them, even though he loves spicy food. He had denied himself and got jokingly called a pussy for years for never breaking his diet for road snacks. And what was the fucking goddman point of it all?
He added ten more different types of snacks and cookies to his cart, including a box of fucking hohos.
In the drink aisle he got the energy drinks that Ilya loved but Shane never let him drink, the ones with caffeine and sugar warnings on the can. He got fried chicken from the deli and frozen pizza and seven different types of fancy cheese including a blueberry flavored one. Three different flavors of ice cream, two frozen pies, and three packs of frozen french fries because goddammit he wanted a fucking french fry.
He hadn't had fried potatoes in four fucking years. All so a bunch of traitors could maybe get the fucking Stanley fucking cup and not only had they not gotten the fucking cup, they'd iced him out of the team he'd built and carried on his goddamn back for a fucking decade. All cause he was a fucking faggot.
What was the fucking shitass goddamn fucking point to fucking anything?
He adds alcoholic seltzer in fruity fucking flavors and the three most expensive bottles of wine that the store has to his cart. Who really gave a shit anyways.
Really, what was the goddamn point?
