06.26.2003 - 9:45 a.m.

I stopped by the grocery store this morning to pick up some more boxes to pack with. The selection wasn�t nearly as good as last time�most of the boxes were either too small or too open at the bottoms�but I managed to find enough to finish. I think.

Anyway, that�s how I found myself in Target just as they were opening the doors. I�m running out of packing tape.

At eight in the morning, Target feels like a horror flick. Specifically, it felt like one of those scenes fairly early in the movie, where the camera pans across deserted streets or half-eaten meals still sitting at the table, and our heroine has yet to find out the horrible truth. A Target is supposed to fill the periphery of your vision with movement, and it is supposed to be hard to tune out the constant human noise. At eight in the morning there is only the merchandise waiting and the muzak playing eerily overhead.

As I made my way back to the home improvement section through the silent shelves of handbags and staring racks of clothing, as I turned every corner, I expected to find mutant shopping zombies.

-stonebridge

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