Vultures

Photo by Andhika Y. Wiguna on Unsplash

The once bustling big-box store was now a shadow of its former self. My foot steps made echoing sounds as I walked across the filthy tile. Half of what remained was torn-up boxes, bubble wrap, and battered store fixtures. A hoard of customers descend on the remaining merchandise to gobble it up. Several of them had shopping carts heaped with cheaply produced clothing, toys, and small appliances.

“Hey, you,” a nasally woman shouted.

I instinctively looked in her direction.

“Yeah, you. Is this your best price?” She jostled a box with a picture of a toaster oven on it.

“Sorry, I…”

The woman cut me off. “You know that’s the problem with these liquidation sales. You’ve got to get rid of it, but you don’t mark it down enough.”

“I don’t work here,” I blurted.

“Well, damn it. You shouldn’t dress in those colors to shop here.” She waddled off in search of a new victim.

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