My people


Maybe I’m different.

I don’t go for glitz or creature comforts. I am most comfortable in places where things are real. My favorite song is “Stuff That Works.” I like to get dirty (on the softball field, in the mountains, in the yard). And I like stores who cater to people like me.

When I am at one of those stores, I am with my people. The shoppers there are normal, every day Americans looking for a good bargain. They dress normally, they buy normal things like towels and lettuce. They don’t put on airs.

But I have noticed that something changes once the sun goes down. Nighttime brings a different sort of shopper. Intermingled among the regulars are people who don’t get out much during the day. They seem to be attracted to the shadows. I think they like to avoid the crowds.

The other night I was out shopping at around 9pm. Standing in front of me was a guy with giant plugs inserted into his ear lobes.

(Photo by Lish Daelnar)

The “goths” were there too. The aisles were full of young people dressed in black, hiding from the world in their spooky hoodies and weird hats.

Tattoos proliferated, and I don’t mean pictures of hearts on someone’s forearm. There were facial and neck tattoos, complete with the obligatory dark messages.

Who were these people? What sort of phenomenon causes them to go to a big-box store late at night anyhow? To what depths must have they fallen to find comfort in shopping for sundries in the late hours of the night?

Then I noticed they were looking at me.

And I realized I was doing the same thing they were.

I was with my people after all.


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