Talita and I were on an expedition; we were on the hunt. I had the top down on my colonial - cabriolet and had my sights focused on a new Apline Mp3 player. My fingers kept lurking around the in dash cd player MG had poorly constructed swatting at its buttons hoping that one strike might end its miserable existence.

I’d fumbled my way onto road x - I have no time to look at road names I drive like the blind, sniffing my way around this city - we were now heading toward the cities extremities, the so called WestGate Mall. I had packed a small white flag to be used in case of a random zombie - mobbing and a small jar of my sardonic - wit to be unleashed on the unsuspecting car guard who dared to steer me into a parking bay. Car guards are not tug boats!

BMW’s like migrating blue wildebeests had chosen the parking bay as their resting point before they went to..god knows hwere..this isn’t the National Geographic blog! I being a gentleman, uttered a timid and insipid “fuck this” under my breath, so softly that Talita didn’t even flinch and too softly for the Zombie occupants to latch onto.

The entrance, a meat funnel, forced its occupants to huddle together to enter. “You’re dragging me” Talita said as I tugged on her arm beckoning her to increase pace as we passed through the doorway and alongside the grizzly inhabitants. “Ignore the numbers, forget the close confines” I kept on repeating, like a casual alcoholic might repeat his AA affirmations.

This mall was lived in; it smelt stale and its occupants scuttled together like ravenous zombies, dragging their feet like the undead and staring at me with the eyes of a mortician! Their wild eyed children were their weaponry, they shot them off in my direction, spitting, splitting, spinning and sniffing - to latch on to my stride. Talita grabbed my hand and whispered “we’ll be out of here soon” to which I replied “yes please, I’m somewhat edgy and I want to punch holes into their faces”.

I wanted to punch holes in their faces - it was true. We spent a total of two minutes in Hi Fi Corporation, I peered at the selection of head units from a safe vantage point. No sooner had we escaped than we found ourselves in a failed Chatsworth Sound Shop - a staff member latched onto me like a Ramora might a shark. He fed off of my mutterings like a parasite; and ushered me to the cheap shit in his store - unrelenting in his ignorance of my plea to “show me what I can buy in my budget” he pushed me like a magpie to shiny crap Sony was currently dishing out to its lesser clientèle. His large forehead, the narrow gap between his eyes and his cold handshake said it all…

I’d had enough; “get me out of here” I said loudly as we exited Sound Experts. We scaled the escalators all the while I prayed that the escalator might open its jaws and swallow someone or something small but alas it was not to be so. Imagine, the click clack of the stairs stop for a moment, and as we all peer downwards waiting to reach our destination - as we do -  a small being is swallowed up and chewed hurriedly like a fat kid sneaking in the extra bite in a crowd, gulping down the morsel just as we all turn our focus onto him.

Clicks was our last destination; it posed the greatest threat. The aisles are like intestinal tracts, squuuueeeeezing its contents into a single line to be crapped out or re-assimilated into the system. I went in, as I’m not one to refuse a challenge. Single file we marched in, in pursuit of water. Trapped in close confines, dehydrated and now ready to thrust my anger into the face of even the most cherub like of faces I knew that we had to spend no more than two minutes in the store. I was grinding my teeth and had frowned so hard that left and right hemispheres of my face swapped sides >< became <> (think about it).  A small family of locusts stood in our path; the father locust - a large man stood with “arm” outstretched - marking his territory with his enormity. He was the manifest of my hatred, fate’s gift to my malicious mutterings and now he had to be moved to prove a point. So I stood and stared at his back - my new horizon - and pushed my way through him - and like Copperfield re-emerged on other side of the Great Wall I too magically reassembled my particles on exit of his fleshy existence. We obtained our liquids, paid and realized that we had purchased sparkling water (poison) instead of still - we left the water on the counter and ran!

As we retreated back to the car, I looked at the building one last time and made a pact with myself. You will not go in there again. Hunter S. Thompson went to grand races with his artist friend, you are better than this - there is more to life than seeking out material objects in consumption prisons..there must be!

there better fucking be..

Surely?

Oh god I hope so!