Shrinkwrap

The engine turns over, reluctant.

The smell of the walk-in freezer

is still caught in the fibers of my shirt,

mixed with the dust of flattened boxes.

The screen glows blue in the cup holder.

A notification that says

we should probably stop.

I look at the thumbprint smudge

right over the word 'sorry'.

It blurs the edges of the text

into a greasy, grey smear.

My hands are still numb

from stocking the frozen peas.

I can't tell if the cold is inside

or just on the surface of the glass.