We Can Still Be Who We Wish We Is

On a register in the afternoon counting too many things and placing them in weirdo external stomachs, I sanitize my hands, your receipt and the counter. All while being watched. While having everything about me counted. While having everything I think about you come true. I'm “trans acting” you. We'll drink hand sanitizer. We'll admire coupons. We'll be together. We'll reprogram the reader board. It'll say something about. Gallons of plastic easter chocolate. You, me and your receipt will count the seconds between each message. The awkward carts behind you will count how long they've been waiting. How long it'll take us to notice them. How many curse words flash and die in the reader board. I'm holding your credit card. I'm contemplating never giving it back. Thinking how ugly it would be to be inconvenienced with you. Holding this card, you and this line, up, forever. You take everything I've just given you out to your car. I shout after you. “I'll wait here!”. Another uglier you slams all the things you forgot to buy on my counter, waking up my register, spilling my hand sanitizer.

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