new york
chemist warehouse is the worst warehouse because the aisles are 30cm wide and im always knocking things off the shelves. i make sure to only walk in aisles with cool or useful products, which is why i own so many broken bottles of space jam 2 cologne.
waiting for a script. there are only two chairs and they put a tiny speaker each that repeats a ten second advert for Zyrtec, again and again on infinite loop. if i try to move my chair away from the speaker, i end up in the crossfire of two, both yammering out of sync, telling me to get ready for a hayfever season that has been and gone. machines beep, the clerk whistles, a man in the other chair scratches a blizzard from his head, and over the store speakers alicia keys bellows about the inspiring qualities of new york.
the dry scalp man puts his phone to his chin and shouts over the noise: 'hey google who sings the song new york.. no, hey google stop. hey google who sings about new york that isnt frank sinatra. no, for fuck sake, hey google, who is the woman who sings about new york and that isnt frank sinatra. Agh. hey google, open shazam".
the song ends before he can get it. i look at him. he is clenching his eyes and fists. i put him out of his misery and tell him its alicia keys. ‘fucking knew it. thanks mate’ he says. ‘hey google, play new york by alicia keys’. both his phone and my phone open youtube at the same time. now my ears are filled with 2 new yorks, 2 zyrtec ads, a loud speaker now playing boom boom pow, the clerk whistling the hook to whistle baby, and the incessent beeping of a fire alarm that no one can hear. i am glad at the possibility that this place is burning down. i say nothing and the place fills up with smoke.