Grey

Today is rainy and dark, and my mood is the same.

I take a ride up to Target with my little black dog, Gracie, beside me because she wants to go and she seems to suit the day. She is curled in a black mass, and looks up at me with her dark eyes, sullen.

Why am I here? Not just here, amist the strangers searching for contentment in stuff, but here? What do I want? Where am I going?

I stuff French bread in the dog box in the back of my truck, away from Gracie's tempted tongue, and walk out into the rain. A mother coos at an infant. I look at underwear. Retail creates need.

I forget why I am here.

I am here because I am aimless, lost in a rainy dark day, with hundreds of others, searching for meaning through merchandise.

I'm on a cleaning kick lately, probably in a search for meaning as well. I want to purify, cleanse: my house, body, life.

I browse, looking for a good Riesling to go with the shitake mushrooms. I buy stuff I don't need. Spend all your money, say the bright red and white colors. Slowly, the rain begins turning to huge, wet snowflakes.

After spending a little over seventy dollars, I return to my truck where Gracie is chewing mud out of her foot pad. She looks at me expectantly. I give her a dog biscuit.

Everything is wet. People race around, trying to escape, but I stand in it. It is beautiful, thought-provoking and tragic.

Gracie looks up at me, still curled up in a ball. She is not plagued with this weather-affect.