You may ask yourself,
"What is that beautiful house?"
You may ask yourself,
"Where does that highway go to?"
And you may ask yourself,
"Am I right, am I wrong?"
And you may say to yourself,
"My God, what have I done?"

No one ever comes into this convenience store. It’s broken down, practically a junkyard fitted into a tight two-storey building. The ceilings are leaky, the tv’s play intermittent static. The news broadcasts are nothing but tragedies.

And the clerk is full of smiles, a face like sunshine, with tanned skin and a nose splattered by freckles. They tell me their name, and that they’re twenty-something, living off this job and a few others to gain enough money to move out of their crappy old apartment. They appreciate the coffee I bring them, and the fact I am one of the few customers who sticks around. They appreciate the conversations we have as I lean against the desk, gum and the sticky residue of spilt coke covering it, coating the fibres of my jacket. 

Despite all of this, I think they find me odd. Off-putting, something I can never shake. People have a sense for things, and I set off alarms no matter how sweet I am. No amount of gifts or chats can change this. Unfortunate. 

I thought the clerk might’ve been more interesting to me then they actually were. We didn’t click.

And now no one at all comes into this convenience store. It’s still broken down, still the same junkyard fitted into a tight two-storey building. The ceilings are leaky, the tv’s play intermittent static. The news broadcasts are nothing but tragedies. 
And the clerk is missing, a chalked outline behind police tape the only evidence of a human life. Tanned skin mutated into a twisted pattern of green and purple, bloating out of the torn clothing. A nose splattered by blood and fractured across their face. I know their name, and that they’re twenty something, that they’re dead in the middle of a harshly lit aisle 3. They scream like a child, and broke off a nail trying to claw themselves away. They gasp and nod, telling me they always appreciated our conversations we had..as I lean against the desk, gum and the sticky residue of spilt coke covering it, coating the fibres of my jacket.

I see why no one uses this store, now.

Same as it ever was,
same as it ever was,
same as it ever was,
same as it ever was.

Cloudy