Dragoncaller (dragoncaller) wrote,

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Bastards! Cruel, cruel, bastards!

Twilight glows faintly on the horizon as night spills into the valley. The lights glow like a shimmering palace, a beacon, a welcoming hearth. I blink as the florescent bulbs that buzz at my intrusion cause my head to rebel with an instant ache that blossoms into a perfect migraine, a dull, rusting auger boring laboriously into the back of my left eye.

In my distraction of trying to figure out how to unlock the magic self checkout wand a woman's voice, friendly, neighborly and pre-recorded booms out from all around me.

"Fresh Italian bread!" She calls. "Come get it while it's still warm! Just out of the oven!"

How mean!

Some executive in his ivory tower rubs his miserly hands with sadistic glee, his face awash with the eerie light cast from his security monitors. "Yes!" He cackles, "Yes! Closer, closer!"

Like a zombie following the scent of a freshly cracked skull I shuffle to the bakery isle.

Resist the one thing that screws with my diet? My kryptonite of weight loss?

But it's warm and smells so good.

Sometimes, you have to feed the soul.

If it only wasn't so fattening.

I only bought one.

So, the moral of the story is this: Never, ever, go to the Supermarket hungry.
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