| OCR Text |
Show Woodworth/106 sight. "oh, I don't know. I feel like there is something that I need. But I can't remember what it is." "Yeah. Happens to all of us." "I know I'll just get home, and think of a million errands that I had to do downtown." She has worked her way to the shelves near the prescription counter. "Toothpaste? Toothbrush?" he asks her, looking down from behind the counter. "Nope." Correc-tol, Del-foam, Trojans. Ortho-gynol. She glances at Peter, but he is looking at his work. Picks up a box of Ortho-gynol cream, checks to make sure that it is the kind with the applicator. Puts it on the check-out counter, disguised among the Bic pen display, the Chapstick bin. Behind the counter is the make-up display. Rouges, powder, mascara, foundations, eyelashes hang in rows. "Mind if I go behind the counter?" she asks. "Help yourself." Marty peruses the rack. No eyelashes. She wouldn't even know how to put them on. A mascara that promises the longest lashes. She tries the blushes, opening each color and putting a slight blush on the back of her hand. Same for powder. Lipstick? She chooses a lip gloss with barely any color. Dumps the pile next to the Ortho-gynol. Brush? Comb? She takes a round, baby-blue box of loose powder. Removes the top, and sniffs. Sure. Good. She tolds it under one arm. Perfume. She tries the testers, but they all smell like amonia. One with a woman in a filmy dress leaping across the box. Too. What? Too feminine. She finds one in a red box with black lettering. There |
