Arriving at the check-out, the girl there asks to see my bag, even though she’s seen me here so many times before. “Sure”, my usual reply. Open bag and “that’s fine”.

“$29.50.”

“Can I pay with this card?”

“Credit or savings?”

“Credit.”

I take out my pink-coloured bank card.

“Did they give that to you or did you choose?”

“I chose it.”

“You like pink, then?”

“Yes.”

—

Moving towards the exit where the automatic doors are, I notice a group of people. A young girl with a back pack. An old man on a motorised scooter. Another woman with plastic shopping bags. They all seem to be stuck, staring at the automatic doors, looking out, as if told to stay there, be calm. A man at a stall selling roofing tiles is also starting out, transfixed by the automatic doors.

“What is happening? What are they looking at?” I have to ask.

“The door I suppose,” offers the roof tiles salesman. “I’m just trying to run a business.”