The Antipathetic Consumer

Senses dulled by TV of the earlier evening, I leave the safety of my home and roam into the night.

A chill wind tickles the nape of my neck, and I up with my hood and snuggling into the warmth of my coat.

I walk.

A car drives past, the horn tooting and the screaming of the happy occupants fades into the night.

Looming larger than life, brightly lit monoliths to capitalism, adverts, catch my eye McDonald’s, M&S, Ford, these names forever branded into my brain.

And the message. Buy! Buy! Buy!

Intersected between the adverts are long rows of silent houses, the blue of the TV casting lurid light into darkened living rooms.

A shuffling man approaches, the sharp smell of sprits on his breath, he mumbles for a light, pushing a half smoked fag between dirty cracked lips.

I oblige.

And move onwards to consumer hell, pulling a list from my pocket I roam the isles looking for my needs, resisting the temptation of my wants.

Back into the cold, I head for home past brightly lit adverts, which repeat in the lurid TV light, of darkened homes.

Home, key, lock, safety.

Senses wakened by the walk, I enter my room, approaching a package on the table. I withdraw a book.

Ignoring the TV in the corner of the room I curl up in my chair, book in hand, hot chocolate beside me, tonight I read.