you’re walking in the aisles at walmart. it’s 11:30pm. you’re not holding anything to carry what you want to buy. what do you want to buy? you don’t know. nothing, really. you’re not here for any real reason.
you don’t want to leave. the lights are bright and there’s few people to be seen. you wander around the store. the wifi is strong and every time you check your phone there’s a new message, and your phone’s not on silent, but it’s not been buzzing or ringing.
you bump into a girl wearing pink in the toiletries aisle. she says sorry in japanese. you don’t know a word of japanese, but you assure her it’s no problem.
there’s a row of only toothbrushes. you pick one up - it’s blue - and put it away. where do you put it away? somewhere. it doesn’t matter. it’s 11:30pm at walmart. you grab some dish soap and a toaster and a candy bar. you see a boy on a bench curled up in the arms of who could only be his boyfriend, crying, their matching nike sweaters matching the grey of the walls. he looks up, and his curly hair falls into his “face.” sorry, he says. it’s okay, you say. i’m sorry about what happened.
you go to the microwave aisle next. you don’t need a microwave, but you’re here. you check the prices as though it matters. you compare them in your calculator and take note of the time: 2:31am. you buy something from the vending machine. there’s not a vending machine anywhere near the microwave aisle, but it doesn’t take you long to get there. your steps are small but they cover aisles. how? it doesn’t matter. you buy a twix bar from the vending machine. it costs $40. you don’t mind.
you can tell the sun is rising. there’s not a window in the building, of course, but the sun is rising. somewhere. the sun is always rising somewhere. you grab a vase of condoms. it is a good purchase.
you take the toothbrush back from where it was and it’s red now. you shrug. that happens sometimes.
the greeter at the front entrance greets you. you say hello in german. he responds with good morning. he says it in finnish.
the music in the speakers begins to play africa by toto, but instead of being africa by toto, it’s toto by africa. you’re unfazed. you take a selfie for snapchat with the bath bombs, captioning it lov the cronch. you save it. the time stamp says 10:52pm.
absently, you begin a search for tampons. you don’t need tampons, you’d just like to locate them. you walk for miles through the same ten feet of the store, going only forward, the world in a loop. it doesn’t matter. you hum toto by africa as you walk, before finally locating the aisle labelled masculine hygiene. you take a box of tampons and turn it upside down before putting it with your other stuff. you begin to wander the aisles again. it’s 11:30pm. you’re not holding anything to carry what you want to buy. what do you want to buy? you don’t know. nothing, really. you’re not here for any real reason.
you don’t want to leave. the lights are bright and there’s few people to be seen.
the store’s music gets dimmer as you walk towards the back, past the open heart surgery rooms and the blue dunkin dounuts, past the car repair stations and the synagogue, before finally finding the toothbrush aisle again.
as you’re contemplating toothbrushes, your good friend god smiles at you from across the aisle. you don’t know why she’s here in the toothbrush aisle, but you’re not complaining. you ask her how she’s been doing. she says she’s fine, she just got engaged.
my girlfriends, she smiles.
i’m happy for you, you say, before taking a pink toothbrush and leaving the aisle.
the japanese girl is still in the toiletries aisle, and she bumps into you again, this time apologizing in russian. you give her a monster energy drink in apology. she drinks it without opening the lid.
the couple you saw before is in the same place even now, at - you check your phone - 5:02am. now the boy who was crying is comforting the other, who has slowly changed shape, his skin rippling in neon colours as the other boy’s skin turns into flowers. you offer them a gift of one tampon. the neon skin boy smiles in gratitude.
you check out at the register at 3:27am. the cashier smiles at you and says, that’ll be $11. you haven’t scanned anything yet, but it doesn’t matter. you hand him a check for $23.09 and leave with your purchases.
have a nice day, says the greeter.
you step outside of the walmart and look for your stuff. it’s not there. you check your phone. it’s 8:42am. the sun isn’t shining. you have 22 unread messages. they are all stamped 1:01am.
your toothbrush is blue again.
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