The dim fluorescent lights that illuminate the section of ties and clothes for 40 year old women. They buzz and if you watch every now and then they flicker.
The people mindlessly strolling down the carpeted isles, checking the clearance section titles ‘ladies blouses’
Every time you turn the corner, your own lonely and decrepit reflection greets you via the full length mirror ******* into the columns.
The particle board ceilings, the circular tables lined with multipacks of men’s underwear, the pointlessness of a store existing solely to accompany browsing zombies
You walk in not needing anything except to fill the extra time you have on a hot day in June. Hoping for anything to keep your mind off of the crushing weight that you need something to distract you from your own fear of being alone.