There are broken bones on the floor of the pharmacy.

Some poor soul with a banana phone steps over intricate bloodlines as he shops for a birthday card for his long-lost niece.

He has somehow forgotten she has died.

That she fell off a cliff on the coast of Wales.

Now she’s a swimming ghost in Cardigan Bay.

“Customer assistance needed in the photo department, the photo department, the photo department…”

That robotic shrill from above annoys him to the point of gnawing his own hands off at the wrists.

“I heard she fell off a cliff,” a stranger breathes into his face. “Or did you push her?”

“I’ve never even been to Wales,” the man pleads. He runs.

A wailing kid in a shoe store gets punched by his Mum.

People are shocked and horrified.

But if he had been gunned down at school… Eh, no big deal. Bullets are bigger than a child’s blood.

The man with the banana phone tries on some Keds as the boy continues to whine and writhe.

“Shut up!” the Mum screams.

People stare. People shake their heads in disbelief.

But if he had been starving on the other side of a war-torn world, they would have stepped over his visible rib cage on the way to the souvenir shop.

The man thinks the Keds suck. Too tight. Not enough cushion and support. American-made crap.

“Excuse me… Do you have any Asian-made shoes?”

The dumbfounded clerk scoffs. “Look around, dude.”

“Ah… And could you possibly do something about that screaming child and his abusive mother? It’s all making for a very uncomfortable shopping experience.”

“Dude… They don’t pay me enough. Not enough to live or eat or buy gas. I don’t even know why I’m here except for the fact my dad is a jerk.”

“Did he come from the jerk store?” The man with the banana phone laughs out loud.

“What?”

“You’re too young. Thanks for your time, though. But I think I’ll just buy some shoes online.”

It’s sunny and warm outside and the man with the banana phone stops at a hot dog stand and orders one steaming wiener on a bun with ketchup only. He raises the dog to the proprietor as in a wedding toast and smiles. “Good stuff. But say, being that you’re in the business, could you tell me what the difference is between ketchup and catsup?”

“There’s no difference at all,” the wiener dealer growls. “You’re referring to regional variations in spelling. Same damn thing.”

“Ah ha… Well, either way. Thanks for the delicious wiener. I’ll be sure to come around again when I’m in the neighborhood.”

“Can’t wait.”

In celebration of the hot dog vendor’s words, the man goes home and repeatedly plays the song “I Can’t Wait” by Stevie Nicks as he stands in front of the window like a mannequin and looks down upon the street. The world is a hustling and bustling place, he thinks. “Look at all those devils and saints sucking in air out there.” He sighs. “If only I could fly. I would leave this place and find unmuddied peace. But I suppose I’ll have to wait until I die.” He sits down at the small table there and begins to shuffle his favorite deck of playing cards. It’s time for Solitaire. In solitude. Away from the chaos of worldly interaction. The streetlights come on. The window is open, and the summer air smells like candy and gunpowder.