the bread aisle

i was standing in the bread aisle alone.

the lights were clear and white and i was almost surprised that the aged and raised white scars of thought across my face, were not illuminated for all to see.

only thirty minutes before the hour at which the super-store closed, the shelves were close to bare. i could smell fruit bread from the bottom shelf where the special varieties of bread were displayed to our ankles, and strangely still, our noses.

come as you are had been playing but i had been neglecting my ears in favour of my nose. when i tuned in, i zoned out, and i was not alone in the aisle anymore.

the lights clear and white, had illuminated a crowd of ghosts, just for me to see. i truly felt as though there was an old friend standing beside me, as i turned my head away from the past procession of silky spektors, who laughed with me at the coincidental and poetic irony of my position.

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