It is, apparently, where one must go for such sundry essentials as condoms, chewing gum, ammo, binoculars, and food. I hate it. It's full of fat people and there's no vegetarian burgers in the frozen food section. I have a feeling those two phenomena are connected.
The place crushed my spirit. Within ten minutes, I felt like the only point to my life was to kill myself slowly working 9-5 to make money to buy useless shit. I briefly contemplated making art or writing poems in the Wal-Mart, fighting back, camping out in sporting goods and writing sestinas. Then I realized that Wal-Mart would win, that the Wal-Marts of the world always win, that the creative spirit is easily crushed. And then I realized that the human spirit, generally, is a fragile and useless thing, that it's often shattered and never recovered, that there are millions of psychic zombies roaming places like Wal-Mart, stuffing their shopping carts with hot dogs and mayonnaise before vegetating as they passively absorb facile TV shows written by smug imbeciles.
So I put an extra bottle of wine in my cart.
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