Prices and Prices

The cat is asleep on my lap which makes it impossible to settle my computer there to get on with the job of frying my ovaries.

Instead it is balanced on my left forearm like an oversized Predator wrist console as my right hand taps out the code for nuclear destruction of the immediate vicinity aka this blog.

What with the bracing challenge of NaNoWriMo and my suddenly bustling social calendar - when the heck did that happen? - November has been exhausting so I hope you will forgive me as I crap out in the grand tradition of those who have gone before me and post a little 'woe unto humanity' chunklet I wrote a while ago

~ ~ ~

It’s nothing special, no magic insight, everyone knows it.

Big stores sell you things more cheaply and have a larger range.

Little stores have less and charge more, sometimes the employees are a little… strange.

Not quite right or too close or too verbose or rude as hell.

But they’re a story to tell, a memory to have.

In both instances you walk away with a purchase but in one you have been robbed of your memory, your story.

The experience has been laminated and nothing sticks.

It is shiny and sterile and we have nothing to talk about with each other anymore.