Hunched on the ground, his spine nearly twisted over his swollen gun, the gaunt man pushes his dirty hands into the plastic of a package. The grocery clerk, dark eyed and nearly seething with numbness, imagines the plastic to be the flesh of someone’s rib cage as his fingers, caked with grime, tears it slowly open. (Read the rest here)
Reworking this piece was almost like looking over the lost letters of a school shooter, and I’m pretty certain that at the point of writing this, originally, i was pretty close to getting to that point; hindsight and all. When I composed “the clerk” i was working for a grocery store which, until i finish writing my nasty little smear piece about them, will remain nameless (don’t worry, their name, along with true tales of sex, drugs, and good old American produce is pretty close to reaching its first pass); but let’s just say that its a pretty big deal here in North-Eastern Ohio. All in all, it was a nasty experience, one that drove a lot of my soul out of my body and nearly turned me into a placid, empty middle management vessel – thank the deep ones for “forced resignations.”
Anyway, if you want to read the full piece, just click the link above, or right here, or you can look for it in the writing menu above. Criticisms and comments welcomed and appreciated!