“Eggs, Pasta, Pancetta… What else?” thought Rick, noticing the sideways glances of other shoppers in his periphery. Unsure if their attention was the result of recognition, or because he’d been murmuring his thoughts out loud again, he slunk into the next aisle, away from their attention, and conveniently, towards the dairy fridges where the cream and Parmesan hid. The whole trip had been running smoothly up until he felt a gentle pat on his shoulder followed by a gentle, high pitched voice;  “Excuse me, are you Rick Wrecker?”. Rick clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes gently, before composing a smile and turning around. Small, brunette. Young and weaselly. She was one of the new adopters due to recent trends shifting his music back into fashion, Rick presumed. Though she had come prepared with a marker pen and a glossy photograph. He still had the black hair and the boots, though the aggressive, brooding expression and young face were now placcid, kind. His previously wirey figure now softer. He’d been through the Rock machine now, those years of excess forging premature wrinkles that outlined his expressions and loosening his eyelids so that they lowered themselves gently over his grey eyes. Rick signed the photo, said his thankyou’s and paying for his groceries, left the store.

The short walk home brought with it the memories that interactions with his younger audience always had. So impressionable. The knowledge of how he would have reacted just a decade ago embarassed him. Over-burdened and slack jawed, The flash of a camera caught Rick off guard, capturing an image that would have disgusted him ten or fifteen years ago. Back in the days he’d earnt a reputation through stories told in backstage black and whites. Lurid and obscene legends documented by the lenses of friends. Clasping the bulging plastic bags that flanked his sides he continued his journey home, smiling for the cameras, wondering if the fan back in the store had seen those photographs. Wondering if his wife had ever seen any of those photographs, and hoping his children never would.