Woe is him and her and them

The 7-11 is a depressing culdesac when the sun is watching. I went there, for reasons not alike the strangers I walked beside and then past. When you purchase whatever it is that compelled you to be there at that specific time, there is the absence of shame. The _____induced guilt that was once there has now vanished, like the funds of a college kid's checking account. Drug addicts know this well, because they are welcome today, tomorrow, and the next. The clerks are not the same number-punching chaps at the Armani Exchange with the pep and enthusiasm. Not at all. The 7-11 clerks don't give a rats ass about who buys what because it's always the bearded lady who wants the nachos and it's always the fire breathers who fancy beef jerky, so on and so forth. This visit wasn't contrary to what I've always seen. I seen a man, who's skull that was unproportionate to his bedrock, ravaging a collection of chocolate bars one after the other, as if a comet were on it's way to vanquish all the cacao from mesoamerica to East Germany. I proposed that he was having an affair, and junk was already out the door. I also seen another man who was radiant...a clown because he took no effort in muscling the expression. It was empty though. I've seen this look many times, many times in those who have lost all connection with commercial reality, modern thought, and the planet earth. Last I seen was a woman wearing the opposite expression...brooding with passion and disesteemed to the bone, not like misanthropes who look down on Mormons or secret Santa shoppers, but a pain that is the helium of a tank. She was a sign twirler, forgive our language. Humbling to say a passerby is I. Why then must others get all the breaks?