All of a sudden I'm looking at my hands...

…and I’m reminded how long it’s been since I went shopping. Not buying things. How grotesque. Changing filthed dollars for items. For property. For things. Buying things is a complex cost-benefit calculus transaction between you, your needs, desires, dreams, and paycheck, and I’ve never been good at math. But, gawd, how I miss shopping. The leisurely stroll through American shopping malls, floating through the weekend crowds, salacious jetsam on the steady stream of consumerism. Looking at everything. How piped in sunlight ripples off of courduroy, gives the mannequin’s head the inner glow of love, or dreams, something far away from there. But I don’t miss seeing these things. I like to close my eyes, run my hands across the armies of fashion standing ready in the Mall’s endless garrisons of boutiques, chains, and brothels. Victoria’s Secret is a favorite. All the satin. Lace playing a game of hide and seek beneath your tentative fingers. The warmth of velour. The tease of soft cottons, like a garment of tiny kisses. I haven’t been shopping in so long.