Low head-scraping ceiling

— Of zombie-buzzed LEDs purging the beauty

Of material shadows.

Drowsy price tags hang with red-yellow peeled stickers

from sleeves and pantaloons —

Earnestness here does not exist.

Only the old guard dozing in his wheelchair behind the

sock-wall and the juxta-placed

Fluorescent collection of

Of brilliantly monstrous cups

Whose manufacturedness penetrates my nostrils and

floods them with vomit-nauseating mundanity.

... but below the counter, peeks at me the stray cat

that coolly snuck in — with a feline grin, and feline

fangs, it says with bright green eyes, “ah! we are both

intruders here!”

See Ricardo's page here.