Wind blew, and some junk mail from a recycling bin at the corner of the road danced across the road. There was a paper bag on the top of a dusty car, however, that didn’t budge.

Ashley investigated—a poke with her hook showed that there were things inside, which helped keep the bag upright. A drink of something blue, and a plastic bag.

She looked around. Not a soul in sight. A few places had lights on, and she saw one man that sat at his computer. He hadn’t seen her and wasn’t watching her.

She moved the bags she was carrying to her hand, and then adjusted the hook, positioning it carefully before impaling the bag and the box of baked goods.

She hefted it, and carried things the rest of the way to her apartment.

The radio and television were on as she entered. She walked around the hole in the floor—she had dropped one of the living room chairs into it to ensure she didn’t fall in. Her bags went to the kitchen counter, which was missing a segment.

The largest bag was full of clothes that had been dropped off at the back of the thrift shop—she would take what she could wear and then take the bags back. Wouldn’t do to have the place close down. Other stuff she’d claimed from the pharmacy, with an eye to medication and personal needs. She spiked the pharmacy stuff, then tossed it through the hole in the bathroom wall, so it sailed over the tub and to the base of the sink.

The last thing was food, also from the pharmacy, which was convenient because it tended to have the staples. Peanut butter, tuna, bread, canned veg. Everything went onto the counter, because the cupboards were a ruin and the fridge was something she tried to avoid damaging, because there were perishables like milk inside.

Once she had her bags sorted out, she investigated the paper bag, tipping it out.

The blue drink was, according to the label, a ‘Legendberry Electrolyte Sports Drink’. There was a red drink below it. The plastic bag that had been put in the paper bag was stuff from the drug store. Pills for fever, lozenges, stuff for indigestion.

At the bottom of the paper bag was a box of eclaires. The contents had been thrown around the box by her manhandling, the white cream smearing everything.

She left it there, walking over to the television. Her routine had been thrown off by the early excursion, but the time was right.

Changing the channel was difficult, but she managed it, switching the television across thirty channels of static to the studying channel.