Orange Juice and Seagulls on a Cold Morning - 6/9/2001

It is early yet, but I decide to walk up to the grocery store to buy some orange juice. I am mostly alone on the streets, though I do see a homeless man pushing a shopping cart full of trash, and walking a bicycle. I arrive at the parking lot, and meander, wandering to the large building with its big bright sign. This would make a marvellous photograph, I remark to myself. I would title it, "Urban Wasteland." The store looks like the fortress of some malevolent enemy.

I wander the fluorescent-lit aisles in a daze, finally making my way to the dairy aisle, where they inexplicably keep the orange juice. I take a note of the price, trying to decide whether I can afford two. I can't. Not if I want to be able to buy bread.

I go to the cash, pay, and leave with my bottle of juice. I buy a 50 cent can of grape soda, and drink it as I walk. I cross the parking lot faster this time, and after that, the street. I seat myself on the streetcorner and watch the seagulls fight like spoilt children over the remains of a slice of pizza.

The city is beginning to awaken. In time, the street-sweeper arrives, and passes rather close to where I'm sitting. The noise is deafening.

The pigeons arrive to pick up the pieces, reminding me that life does, in fact, go on.


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