wasting

He's stumbling down the aisle, bright lights flashing in the corners of his eyes. He's breathing a little too hard, from the angry jog.

An associate looks at him with wary eyes and he quickly glances away, taking the wrong turn and skirting his glance over vitamins he didn't need and supplements that he doesn't want.

His heart is jumping in his throat. It's been so long -  he'd almost forgotten the excitement, the energy that two bodies could generate, writhing around on a filthy couch with soft rock playing in the background.

He knows this is the right thing to do but all he can feel is annoyance as he turns the corner and spies the familiar square boxes, advertising various shapes and sizes and colors he didn't even know existed. Has it really been that long?

He's rolling a cigarette around between his lips, wetting the filter as he quickly scans over the hearty selection. He finally gives an audible grunt of frustration and grabs the absolute middle package, one that is neither for too big or too small and advertises nothing but ninety-nine percent protection.

He lights his cigarette with shaky hands as he exits under the familiar blue and yellow light, five-finger discount tucked into his jacket pocket as he begins the quick jog home.

He hopes there's still a handsome blonde waiting in his bed.