Quarter
Myfanwy Collins

We found a discount grocery store, the kind where you have to pay for bags and where you stick a quarter in the slot to get a cart. You get a quarter back in the end, but it's not necessarily yours. That quarter could belong to anyone, but then it's yours, in your hand, your pocket. Money is tricky.
The discount yogurt I bought was too sweet in its sourness, like vomit and dry breath after a night of blackberry brandy.

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I left the yogurt behind when we vacated the house. I don't know if anyone ate it or if they simply threw it in the trash, knowing where it came from, how it got there. I like to think of it as a quarter I left behind, wedged into the cart like a prize for the next user.

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