I don’t know how that store was still in business after all these years. I had last been inside 20+ years ago. It only sold things no one wanted — and probably all the same things from when I was a child. A layer of dust covered everything and the flourescent lights hummed overhead, emitting an evil yellow-green noxious hue, giving anyone who stepped foot on the premises the complexion of a zombie.
I went into the store as a last resort to find something I didn’t know I was looking for. I didn’t find it. But on the way out, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to take something. Anything. I’d never shoplifted before and seeing as how no one ever bought anything here, it felt more like a rescue operation than a crime. I casually strolled down the aisle and plucked up an object without looking at it. It felt smooth and wooden. I tucked it up under my sleeve and started for the entry-way near which I paused to peruse a magazine rack like I was in no hurry to leave this hideous place. Finally, I reached for the door and alarms went off. Of course. I turned back where a girl blandly eyed me from behind the counter. I untucked the object from my sleeve, slowly placing it on the counter. A wooden pestle. Who steals a pestle? “Oops. Forgot about this.” Without changing her expression, the girl says, “I’d walk out of here fast if I were you.” I did. My brother was waiting outside. I grabbed his arm and we ran.
