The frail old woman’s half bent head, intently searching for bargains, barely rises above the Walmart shopping cart.
Unswervingly, the worn cart jangles down the aisles, one of its front casters not quite touching the floor, futilely spinning.
Like the orgy of shoppers accompanying her, she does not give an inch, steering her way with mechanical, unflinching devotion.
Words are drowned out by tawdry products stacked in screaming profusion in well crafted packages that are sure to outlast their contents.
Her knotty hands grip the handle like talons, tendons threatening to pierce the thin skin as though she were driving or being driven by six white horses.
Through rows and columns of shelves arranged in greedy spreadsheet precision the parade circuits.
Seeking in silent unquenchable yearning to find a daily deal; liberated of any other thoughts.
To fill imagined needs, abstract voids, or, at least, attain bare survival are the clean, pure desires.
Past downtrodden workers mutely restocking shelves the old woman and the wordless, weary parade desperately drives on.