A morning person, I leave the house before daylight. Two pariah dogs follow me as I hurry to get wine for Thanksgiving Dinner before the crows make shopping too difficult.
I stop first at the new shop on the North side of Portage Avenue. The dogs , having delivered me safely, continue on their way. The shop is open but only dimly lit. I fumble for the light switch, only to see the shopkeeper vanish when I flip the switch. I spend close to an hour, checking out the shelves, various wines, unsorted on any principle I can understand.
I find beer, including an unusual 12 pack of Grolsch in cans the size of Heineken, which I put down when the staff begins to arrive flipping various switches revealing the store also sells men’s and women’s wear, especially coats and leather shoes, none in my size. I turn to leave and see a book section. Alarmed I bolt across Portage into a strip mall with a central reception desk, with no security guard, the sliding door to another unlit wine shop unlocked. As soon as I’m inside I know there is something seriously wrong,
Expecting an ambush, sweating under my coat, I pivot on the heel of my cast, and walk into one of the glass panes shattering. Gathering myself up I hurry away. When I get home I say to my wife, making our morning coffee, “ain’t it great we live near three private wine stores plus the Liquor Mart.” “So what did you get?” she asks. “Nothing,” I reply, I couldn’t decide.”