4:00pm-12:00am

Dimly lit skies peer through a tall pane of glass.

Gazing at feather dusters embracing the tops of fragrance bottles, each emitting a smell so different, like the ladies who congregate at the front counter to take a load off.

A pack of Coke for Robin and a net of Babybels, Denyse’s weekly buy.

Walking up and down cold ceramic floors, tumbleweeds somersaulting across them.

Imagining a runway in Milan, an aisle to walk down towards the arms of someone unknown– or the stretch of an airport terminal before a summer away.

A call from behind orders a lipstick for a set court date in a messy divorce: red for power, pink for innocence or a deep plum to allude to mystery– conveying the message of a secret being uncovered. 

The continuous beeping of the till reverberates like a robot fight, a sound so deeply ingrained you could harmonize with it. 

Cold leather seats carry the bodies of hundreds of people who wonder how they can look young again, poking and prodding every single thing they hate about themselves.

The only product recommended was the acceptance of each line telling a story from a pocket in time in which wisdom grew, one no amount of cover-up could erase. 

Whispers of hope send them on their way as the swipe of a card lulls us to sleep.