strings

You can get the strangest feelings sometimes. I couldn’t find the right bin bags. Half the rows lie empty, and the price tags on the shelf read only in code. Far too big, far too small, just too small, far, far too small. I resign myself and choose a box of cereal as the sale tags demand. Strolling down the aisle my eyes recoil at the brightness of the sweets, temptation waits for every man along the trail of confectionery, but the spirit is strong and the wallet light. I surrender to the tags again, the glass door swinging to a lowly thud as the patron saint of caffeinated beverages blesses me with a smile. A familiar verse rings across the store and I draw toward the source. The speaker discovered, I find myself at bags once more. Again I scour every label with no success, my shopping is done, but my song is not. The familiar face of the Korean store owner appears from the back, merely to see the man who has turned his pet food stand into a pedestal. He grins my way and lifts a brow, wandering back to the freezer. I walk toward the counter, the tops of dog food tins marked upon my pants, a shuffle of change, a petty few steps and I linger on the kerb. The large lady behind the dark glasses drives past and frowns at me. I step onto the tar, sunlight shifts onto my neck. And for half of a moment, I am indestructible.

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