Farewell Valued Customer (Very Late May)
Farewell Valued Customer (Very Late May)
"If you want to buy, hurry up to buy. The shop owner is in a bad mood."
The fusion bistro has shuttered for the evening. The artisanal delicatessen has shuttered for the evening. The pizza shop, whole pie, delivery only, has shuttered for the evening. Along the broad arterials, zoned multifamily, multistory, the curtains are drawn, the shutters are shut. Opposite the marina, yachting and commercial moorage, ultramarine pours soft from the automatic teller machine cabinet sliding glass doors. A stronger, more refractory light falls out the convenience store awning. Beneath it, gasoline and electric vehicles are docked, ready for disembarkation, their voyage without fanfare, without christening, only a silent benediction to the valued customer, coupons printed on the back of the receipt.
A shriveled hot dog rolls on metal rollers, meat extruded, as if foundry cast. The shriveled hot dog rolls, free of additional nitrates, on metal rollers, extruded meat extruding grey oil beneath red lamps. Chopped onions garnish, individually packaged relish, the singular of relish, individually packaged mustard, the singular of mustard. Organic energy supplements honor our nation’s first responders. The purchase is rounded up, whole dollar, for neurofibromatosis charities research. The cashier offers a perfunctory benediction. The receipt offers a perfunctory benediction. The valued customer departs. No bistro, no delicatessen will open its doors, will close its doors, not at this hour, not for any money. Food service is self-serve, condiments applied, relish and mustard, the singulars thereof, in customizable fractions, atop the recycling bin lid, while the mist turns to steady rain, the arterials channeling water and whatever else, additional nitrates, homeward, seaward.
