Paper or Plastic?

Harsh yellow fluorescent light rams itself into your eyes. Liquid rains down on you.

“Where the fuck am I?” 

A soft tinkling melody jangles overhead, interrupted by a voice saying something you can’t quite pick up.

You realize you’re laying on the ground and pick yourself up off the smooth terracotta colored tiles.

How long were you unconscious in this grocery store? Why did no one seem to care? The voice on the loud speaker cuts in again “There’s a call for the meat department on line 3, meat department, line 3.”

The last thing you remember was your friend from the desert who was carrying around a ladies shoe full of Ketamine and a book about frogs. He said he was a fallen god on a quest to jack the sun off so he could birth the redeemer and you thought that sounded really cool at the time.

A woman with a beehive shuffles her cart past you, sniffing disdainfully as she narrowly avoids running your foot over.  You search your pockets and find a stick of gum, an origami frog, 36 cents, and a gathering of hair and small twigs.

Cool.

 

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