Waiting outside seeing only percentage signs and what they bring; planning their route around the store; eyeing up the competitors. Telling the press, friends, anyone who will listen how sad the whole thing is.
Swooping in, the smell of warm flesh in the air, the taste of it in their mouths. Elbows soon become weapons as they scan the shelves and home in on stuff they need, stuff they don’t need, any and all stuff reduced. Savings feed them, whatever their background. Savings satiate the desire to amass stuff.
China smashes, people fall, baskets fill, voices rise, wallets empty, tills ring hollow as life is extracted, the coffin already made.
And the helpless staff watch on, knots tightening around their hearts as the days pass, each home time potentially the last. Their feet aching, ears ringing: all that you would expect at Christmas. But not like this, not this way, please, they plead while being dragged around by vultures demanding insider knowledge, asking what’s left, picking with their beaks and claws at the carcass that was these people’s jobs.
And outside I wait, wondering if the prices will drop below 50% their original (plus VAT alterations), wondering what I will be able to get from the music, toys and sweets. And if they do the thermal mug (leather bound) I need to find.
Waiting in the queue I talk with a person about how sad it all is, smiling inwardly at the savings I will make, my feathers quivering excitedly.
Swooping in, the smell of warm flesh in the air, the taste of it in their mouths. Elbows soon become weapons as they scan the shelves and home in on stuff they need, stuff they don’t need, any and all stuff reduced. Savings feed them, whatever their background. Savings satiate the desire to amass stuff.
China smashes, people fall, baskets fill, voices rise, wallets empty, tills ring hollow as life is extracted, the coffin already made.
And the helpless staff watch on, knots tightening around their hearts as the days pass, each home time potentially the last. Their feet aching, ears ringing: all that you would expect at Christmas. But not like this, not this way, please, they plead while being dragged around by vultures demanding insider knowledge, asking what’s left, picking with their beaks and claws at the carcass that was these people’s jobs.
And outside I wait, wondering if the prices will drop below 50% their original (plus VAT alterations), wondering what I will be able to get from the music, toys and sweets. And if they do the thermal mug (leather bound) I need to find.
Waiting in the queue I talk with a person about how sad it all is, smiling inwardly at the savings I will make, my feathers quivering excitedly.
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