Observation Lane

Three teens mill through the racks of tabloid mania, damn near close to perfection as these youth dare to dream. Those papers have a magnetic pull of the sick american nightmare where the events of the famous take on story like proportions not written since The Odysessy. Kino the woman working behind the cashier counter tonight has a long sleeve shirt on to hide the trickling of colorful ink hearts trailing down her hands, well at least they are not tears next to the eyes. The trio of kids have spent the past ten minutes seeking to decipher the exact meanings of the various vitamin based athletic replenishment soft drinks which read like the chart of a chemistry periodic table and within all this well written advertising copy on the sides of the bottles; a decision can hopefully be formulated to convince these consumers on the health benefits as well as the austere sense of chic that comprises the overall taste, flavor, and ever important social rewards for purchasing a 3 dollar bottle of artifically flavored water.

Thankfully, there happens to be at least twelve flavors for the modern day rocker kids to choose from which serves as a pressure valve release amongst a generation of indecisive shoppers who can't be bothered with any sort of material acquistion that does not involve pop stars, 3rd rate B-list actors, and the random cute house pet. Have to do everything in my power to not get sucked into the tabloid racks, such an utter waste of paper and time, yet more than not every housewife and hard nosed construction worker can be seen throwing a 2 dollar copy into the loose arrangement of frozen foods, hard liquor, and processed meats. Time to say hello to the cashier, if for no other reason than to watch their reaction whether it be total robotic animation from too many years on the job or the venomous silent teeth clinching eye burning stare of a human one bad day removed from loading up on assualt rifles for an impromptu session of The Island of Dr. Mareau within the confines of this grocery store.

We are all locked down in one format or another but watching people tonight has convinced me of its indelible stain on the minds of the general public. A young man searches through rows of cough medicine in hopes that his keen male instinct of not asking for help when he is unable to find something will allow him to interpet exactly what his diaper wear infant child might need in order to fight off a routine cold. The gentleman sits on a large box of disposible diapers almost like the statue of The Thinker, lost in a real deep state of mediation hopeful whatever mystical bit of wisdom swirling around the store right now shall find its way into ultimate asessment of the cold remedy products in front of him. All I can muster is a bit of cheap humor for the cashier, nothing special, already too busy watching the women in front of me rack up a 400 dollar bill on similac, paid by the state of Nevada, must really have some hungry children at home or could be just one more angle on the welfare system scam, who knows. Just happy enough today getting by with four hours of sleep and a mind full of artistic achievements yet to be conceived, so back to the word processing escaping the all encompassiong power of The National Enquirer for one more evening.