9.30 am. In the supermarket, a woman bumped into me. She was squeezing plums, checking to see if they were ripe. They weren't. She scowled. Not only at the plums, but also at me. She wore a cap against the rain and was carrying two bags: a lap top case and a sports bag. They weighed down heavily on her one shoulder, the shopping basket hung unto her other arm for dear life. Fruit and yoghurt and fiber cookies and a salad and cup-a-soup. She was sweating and her hands trembled as she bent down two pick up a magazine: 'Yoga.' I imagined she was running late for work and the coffee she had just drank was giving her a hypo. I judged her. In fact, I was judging myself.