It was early evening. I was on a mission to help fight teen angst. I decided to start in a place rarely seen by the afflicted—the bookstore.
Armed with cash and dressed for combat, I jumped in the car. Objective: books. Field of battle: a bookstore. Motive: to enlighten a young mind. Targets: philosophy, literature, and art journal supplies. Conflict: demand greater than supply.
Recon, from the parking lot, revealed a high-traffic environment. The store was in its final days. Books were priced to move. (All fixtures too!) This may get bloody.
I entered the store. I scanned for the target genre. It was tough as the field looked tossed and battle worn.
Cloaked in suburban mommy wear, I stalked unnoticed. Shoppers seemed focused on their own targets. In fact, I noticed that several were consulting lists and scoping the territory.
All of the sudden, a primal need to consume indiscriminately kicked in. It didn’t matter what it was. I wanted to have rather than not.
My eye flushed red. My knees bent. My back coiled. I was about to lose my humanity.
Later, as I approached my car, my vision cleared. I had books in hand—a couple for the teen and a few for myself.
Sunday, September 4, 2011. I snapped the pic with my Kodak Z7590 then put the photo through a filter using Photoshop. The store receipt reflected $44 in savings.
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