Stationery, beer, paper towels, no-doze tablets, dried apricots. A space capsule must have unloaded here. Wait, face powder, mas- cara, magazines, one-hour photos, travel- size toothpaste, volumizer shampoo (all of us losing hair, breathless on the go). Showing ID for narcotic Rx’s. Signing on the wobbly line next to numbered stickers’ benefits. If you want to live forever, this is the place to be. Open that whole-grain bag of crisps. Inhale now and moan among not- animal-tested fragrances. Someone on the front page of the paper in its gleaming rack—it’s certainly you. Hollow-eyed. Smiling.
John Allman | Literary Man Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)