I went to Verma's Market tonight. Verma's is a little shop, a block away, that sells frozen foods, snacks, a few periodicals, etc. at notably inflated prices. They charge the standard $.75 for the Cambridge Chronicle, which I get there weekly, but most items are a good 30% higher than I could get at the Market Basket. I visit for the convenience and because I feel a neighborly bond with the Indian immigrant family that runs the place.

To briefly digress, I'm generally positive toward Wal-Mart and friends. If my neighbors don't want to pay a premium because they know the owners of the store, I'm not one to force them -- this is just me. If a large chain buys them out, I'm happy for them, though I'd feel a little sorry for the chain if they assumed they could charge exactly the same premium without hurting sales.

Anyway, I brought $4 with me, which I knew wasn't enough, but they have an ATM I planned to use. The ATM turned out to be dead -- that happens on occasion. I asked the guy behind the counter -- the patriarch of the family -- whether they could handle credit cards. They can't, but he gave me store credit. He recognizes me, he knows I'll be back. He wrote down my name and the amount of my purchase -- $6.something -- and told me to pay next time I come by.

There are perfectly cynical comments to be made -- a "bigger" store might have a more reliable ATM, for example, and/or the ability to accept credit cards -- but I'm further endeared to them, myself.

Last Sunday, the Susan and I went up coast to Hammond Castle, a castle in Gloucester whose nucleus was from Scotland, but which had some parts added in 20th century Gloucester. Nice place; beautiful scenery. The sort of place I might live if I were rich and a vampire. We wandered around Manchester a bit on our way back through, and then Salem (which was more interesting than Manchester).

I think Susan likes hanging out with me because I do as I'm told. "Sure, we can do that." "I suppose if it were just me, I'd do it this way, but either one is fine with me." At one point, she volunteered me to take a picture of a couple for them.

One topic of discussion was her relationship with Fred, which I don't follow too closely, on the grounds that it changes too quickly and unpredictably. I keep some track of stock prices, mind you, but not Susan and Fred. Fred's sister is going to be married in Hammond Castle. I know Fred, but not his family, so I asked Susan whether Fred's sister is like Fred. She didn't know -- she's never met Fred's sister, or any of his family, dispite the fact that they live within ten miles of her. Fred has discouraged it. "Basically," I said bluntly, "he doesn't really want you to be part of his life."

But maybe that suits her, in her way. She's certainly too independent to be with me; I suspect Fred's emotional distance is a little too far for her, but maybe it's within her range. I suppose we all have the conflict between a need for intimacy and a fear of it -- either an inability to trust or an aversion to feeling "trapped" -- and different people work it out in different ways.