by Noah Matthews
She slid across the worn carpet in tattered shoes
tired, a forced smile resting uncomfortably on her sallow face
just making it behind the cash register as he pushed the bottle of water in her direction.
Reflected in the high sheen of the marble, granite, or was it grarble or manite.
Of course not.
That is stupid.
If he watched one more imperialist displaying blinding white veneers set in silcone-plumped lips tottering around a gleaming marble temple to self disguised as a kitchen renovation on TV he might puke.
And there he was.
People passing, rushing, walking, wandering.
Planes landing, planes taking flight.
She took the faded bills from his hand.
Nearly three dollars for a bottle of water.
What a world.
"You know that is flavored water?"
Of course it is. And why not. This very day thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands walked two, four, seven miles or more just to get a bucket of parasite-laden water
A Refreshing Hint of Lemon and Lime.
Bottle after bottle lined up in rows.
Cold and waiting.
"Your change is twenty nine cents."