summerJets

Land of the Lotus-eaters

In a freezer between the pornography magazines, energy drinks, and candy bars of an awkward little liquor store, rests large bags of square ice. I patiently wait for two prostitutes to purchase their fermented desert-sap. The cashier asks me if it burns. Photos of children sit under the glass of the counter among the tobacco and lighters. I pass an old man with an eye-patch on my way out. The shining, young, high-heeled ladies are entering the car of the old over-weight man in his cherry red sports-car. At work I repair the wheelchair lift of an obese man who possesses the unique ability to bend the alloy with no more than gravity. I’ve no idea of the absolute, but I can tell it’s a strange place to be.