Ghost Stories Are For Campfires

I saw a ghost as I walked into the supermarket late last night; she was standing there with her new boyfriend as they were picking out a movie from the redbox machine.

My roommate and I were on a hunt for some groceries, we made a late night run towards the stores of the East, and turned into the local Aldi’s only to find that it was closed.  We were determined not to waste this trip, since a few wrong turns had been taken early on.  Deciding on the nearby 24 hour Wegmans, we parked in the barren lot, and headed into the ever chivalrous doors at the entrance.

As we walked, we carried on a conversation about our snowboarding experiences as beginners.  “And I was really having trouble with my toe edge…” I said.  My roommate continues, “Me too, actually I never really learned how to stop!”  We both attempted to demonstrate our blunders on the asphalt in front of the store, “I’d be flying down the mountain, and the front of my board would kick up into the air like this!” I said as I acted it out. “Oh man, you must have been leaning back too far.  Happened to me a few times…”  he replied.

And then I saw the ghost.

Luckily it didn’t see me.

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