A Well Painted Sign

In all honesty, it was a job that could have been done just as well, if not better, by a well-painted sign. You picture an ambitious, perky teenager with an IQ of 80 and a trust fund, the like that is prone to cruse this stretch of boulevard, setting down her kiwi and mango topped designer yogurt in exchange for, perhaps, a glitter pen. “Oh my God, I can totally make a sign, that will totally rock. Totally,” the teenager would say. And the teenager would. The sign would read the words that now fell from your lips pushed through a forced smile like rancid meat through a rusty grinder. “Hey you guys, the rack over here is fifty percent off and this one, this other rack, over here, this one, over here, is seventy-five! And hey, we even have more sale stuff inside. Inside. Through the door. Inside!” But the sign wouldn’t bumble. The sign would be concise. Just numbers, like this; 50% OFF, 75% OFF, MORE INSIDE. And the sign would be in glitter rimmed bubble letters which would garner a far more positive reaction than a fake sounding half-assed sales pitch from you. A tired, hung-over, angry sales girl. So you start killing them in your mind. Killing them one by one as they pass, as the shadows of the sun grow longer, as the day passes, as your life passes, and you wonder, you ask yourself that age old question, "Where did I go wrong?" But thoughts like that are too depressing, so you go back to fantasies of killing them with hangers, blinding them with over priced body spray, and strangling them with the skinny legs of designer jeans.