I got friends in low places.
Just cruising down the aisles, my posterior wonky. I have been doing this for a long time, let me tell you. I saw these aisles throughout glorious and wonderful times, back when it really meant something to roam this place.
My friends, they shift. It’s beautiful to see them rise up – from time to time. As long as humility isn’t lost, I am your biggest fan. Truly, shine in all your glory. I’ll get out my sun chair, glasses and beer – tanning in your almighty radiation.
Secretly, down there, where my wonky wheel is, the outcasts live. They party, they drink, they contemplate. In the dust, with the small insects and humanoid leftovers. I cruise by, say hello. Sometimes I stay, for a prolonged period.
All my good friends smell like life – musky, raw, animalistic. Real.
They survived, whatever life had in store. In this store. Some are made for this life underneath the shelf. Surpassing what Kierkegaard would call the Aesthetic life. Some perish. Kudos to them – at least they tried.
I got friends in low places. Who’s really keen on being top of the shelf?
And while I carry away the shining items, the ones that resemble aesthetically pleasing things, I aim to judge less. I am but the vessel, wonky wheel and all. When I am back, I’ll see.
Who ends up on top, the low place, or inside my shopping cart.