The hood of the car hangs as it slowly turns left, row after row of the filled Death Valley Mall parking lot. A soft muttering accompanies the ubiquitous holiday song.
"Sleigh bell bling, will ya blister, to the plane, cows are flittin..." Again, that slow, wide turning, turning, turning, turning and maybe a backup because of hidden compacts and gargantuan SUVs.
"I'm never gettin' inside. Everybody and their Aunt Betty are here today. Even old Uncle Archie parked his buttocks on a bench without his donut. Dog, will that be a movement tonight. Whole factories organized against management goons easier."
And then IT appears, peeking just around the far end of a row. GET IT! A screeching approach, accelerator rammed forward, hood careening... But it's a cart station filled with busted buggies. A sighing murmur of despair: "That's not one. Nothing is so beautiful as spring."
Eastward, A door opens and a woman, waddling under packages, exits. "Maybe if I follow that woman. Follow, follow, follow. Don't look at me like that, lady. I'm not your husband." Car trunk feeding time. It devours the packages, leaves the woman for later. A belch is heard in the car to punctuate her officious buttockal sashay back into the mall.
"Bite me." The murmur whimpers. The flickering lights of the rent-a-cops go all blinky. "There they go... a vaingloriously frivolous attempt at order."
"Hey fellow, take our spot. We got go to the other side of the mall," the pimply-faced guard yells. Gears shift, tires spin, the transmission purrs through four gears and overdrive, a fine, smooth drift into place. True, no one has left and they are packed shoulder-to-shoulder inside, but parking achieved, he can shop. Christmas is saved. One more dawn. One more day. One year more. The Conquering Hero alights.