It’s your first trip to the grocery store as a couple, and you will learn very quickly that your hot new boyfriend Tyler has major issues with the commodification of soap—says goat milk soap is the “all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world” and the medicated stuff they develop in labs “has us chasing cars and clothes” and the bars infused with essential oils reinforce that “our Great War’s a spiritual war and our Great Depression is our lives”—and he holds each one up to your nose and asks if you can smell the difference; which, you acknowledge you sort of can, but it’s nighttime and they’re going to close the store in half an hour and you need him to help you get food like radishes and frozen pot pies, and he’s all, yeah okay whatever, let’s go, but he was just trying to get you to understand “this is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time,” and you didn’t realize your hot new boyfriend was quite this passive aggressive, and now you’re passing the aisle with all the gun and fashion magazines, and Tyler glances back at one particular cover featuring a shirtless sweaty ripped guy with spiky hair and red pants and mumbles something disapproving about “movie gods and rock stars” and you’re all, yeah okay whatever, if you’re so above it all, tell me why you keep quoting directly from Fight Club, and now you’re staring at the boxes and boxes of frozen food they keep behind glass doors, and you’re wondering how you’re ever going to eat all this—but Tyler is staring down at you now, really scrutinizing the power wheelchair you usually always almost entirely forget about when the two of you are together, and he wants to know what you’re talking about; he’s not quoting from anything; this is actually just what he thinks, but you call bullshit and tell him that, no, it’s actually not; literally everything he’s said since you came in the grocery store has been some bullshit line from Fight Club and now the place closes in literally two minutes, but now Tyler is just giving you the blankest look you’ve ever seen, so you’re all, Fight Club—two guys beat the shit out of each other—one isn’t real—they start a terrorist organization—and now Tyler is jittery and looking like he maybe wants to beat the shit out of you, and, suddenly—you don’t really understand why you’re doing it—but suddenly you’re hitting him with your wheelchair and he’s actually taking it and he’s actually laughing and you keep hitting him and no one’s around and his laugh is a boy’s laugh and his laugh is your laugh and the store is closing and the cold of the freezer section is getting to you, a straitjacket cinching tight around your shoulders, your chest, strangling out the words, “This is a very strange time,” as the Pixies start to play, maybe over the grocery store PA or only in the back of your head, but the song just keeps getting louder and louder and louder and louder—