You really wouldn't believe the shit that collects behind Milky Ways and Mars which might even be considered interesting if it were in fact space dust that Neil Armstrong brought back. It's nice to think space dust when you're down on your knees really getting your hands into it with your black cloth and Fantastik.

Pennies, money smear, metallic scratch off splinters from Fast Cash tix, purple sugar from Fun Stix packets that you used to pretend was cocaine on porch steps when you were a kid because it was the only thing you could get your hands on.

"There's my girl down there," Billy whines, "Sean's got you doing some cleaning today, eh? Well, while you're down there, heh, heh . . . Oh, I've got this paaaain in my neck right here, but that'll go awaaay won't it?"

Suspendered Billy like clockwork with dribbles of his daily mac and beef crusted to the corners of his mouth; on his plaid short sleeve. Again with the candy colored tripping . . .

And god damn Carl, has to come in everyday and drop over a hundred dollars on the scratch offs, leaving behind piles and piles of shavings, most of which crevice into the corners of the shelves melting into Bit-O-Honey bars no one buys, forming layers of old-fashioned candy grit.

Up to my tit in grit, I run in my head to make the day play faster. Longing to be back where I stand so long you have to pull a Richard Simmons to keep spiders out of your leg skin, so much better than turning hunchback just to make sure the Wrigley's family is aligned properly. Organization, my little Spearmint, is the backbone of our Brady household. And make nice nice with your brother Peppermint...

Welcome to the elevated spot in the universe where I control all the ages: THE UNDERS: Kid I gotta see a picture? Left it in the car? Well, can you get it? Oh, your pal had to move it? Don't know where he went? Well, sorry man, can't do it. B + H Ultra Lights 1000's? Those are ladies' butts. Now you look more like a Parliament man to me.

THE OVERS: And as tall as I am behind the counter boot-smeared snow haired grandpa with black beads in his face and a sheet rolled up at the sleeves who I swear would go without smoking chain all day if we were out of 2 packs of Salem Ultra Lights 100's whose foil shrink-wrappers he would always rip off and leave for me on the counter. A shiny thank-you. Please remind me to shrink-wrap the fucker who invented that sealed-for-freshness shit.

Shrink-wrap. A psych doctor's favorite tunes.

I could use both right now. Don't make me push the red button. That's the produce key. Red for tomatoes. Bursting red, this fruit-vegetable. The produce key I always embraced, but shunned the deli key. I pushed that once and hit the sandwich maker in the back there, this Dep-gelled black T cowboy with spurred heels and BO with a mighty fist. Push me back on my knees to snort green and orange and pink sugar tabs and Nerds and I'll wait for another blackout.

Highlighter white walls and shelves and the sympathetic drone inside you from the freezers go limp and gray except for emergency exit signs. Red like the insulted get off the stage produce key. Pez. Cherry flavored Pez. No question about it.

My Personality
BY RIVATIVE

Andie Pants
BY RYAN P. DUNCAN

Court System
BY KARRIE SEMIPERT

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