A brief flashing
moment in a car window screen as it whistles by reflects a
fanatically unshaven
man: uncombed hair unapproachable demeanour - translucent anaemic
blue. Yes, I'm pickled in brine from yesterdays drinking, thoughts
covered in ulcers - illogically picked apart by delusions, insomnia
etc. I loosen mucus expelling it into nearby bush, it's eleven a.m –
I'm a strung out stray dog my eye's dart about at the slightest
movement.
Vapour rises from the black pores of the boiling street stewing out last-nights indulgence - cracking the tarmac as the weeds emerge alive. A distant car alarm echoes on another avenue piecing the Sunday morning silence as sunlight casts paranoiac shadows in the upper windows of the rough looking flats - Secreting grease a sweating turkey dripping fat – I criss-cross the saturated street's with a fluttering itch, a merciless desire.
I make my way across the oil stain carpark and pass the petrol pumps with there fine odour, until I'm on my knees crawling almost towards a clinical mirage on the horizon its door's opening out onto the synthetically sterile - air-conditioned halls of Tesco: a consumerist Dachau for 21st century.
Vapour rises from the black pores of the boiling street stewing out last-nights indulgence - cracking the tarmac as the weeds emerge alive. A distant car alarm echoes on another avenue piecing the Sunday morning silence as sunlight casts paranoiac shadows in the upper windows of the rough looking flats - Secreting grease a sweating turkey dripping fat – I criss-cross the saturated street's with a fluttering itch, a merciless desire.
I make my way across the oil stain carpark and pass the petrol pumps with there fine odour, until I'm on my knees crawling almost towards a clinical mirage on the horizon its door's opening out onto the synthetically sterile - air-conditioned halls of Tesco: a consumerist Dachau for 21st century.
The place is all but empty, cold and
clean. I quickly scan the aisles, a security camera scans me, I feign
a smile my desperation seemingly obvious from my shaking hands as I
extract two litres from the top shelf - six syllables ring out
robotically - Cashier number five please! - an ear splitting
intensity hammers at my nerves – synapses fail.
The bottles of vodka are scanned
through with automaton like efficiency - inhumanly human, I thought
as I handed him a crumpled note. He smiles conspiratorially and
whispers - “The machines are taking are jobs - T-1000's They are
not...but They are just as persistent.” I nod politely before
leaving in a confused state of delirium daze as the technicolor
sunshine warps through the automatic glass doors that part upon
me...Humid air inflates my lungs again, skin pricking out with heat,
as my mind maps out the short walk back home, and the bottles clank.
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