You walk through the door and into the darkness. A spring on the door ensures that it shuts quickly behind you, minimizing your exposure to any light other than the solitary candle I have lit on the counter. I am dressed in black. The walls are black. You are my regular customer only because Walgreen's takes an hour to fill your prescription and all you care about is getting it in 5 minutes. You lay the order on the counter.
"Levaquin" I say in a tone distracted and distant. "Of course I will help you, but of course you know the Levaquin will only delay the inevitable. Life itself is a futile event my friend. Yet we struggle on"
As I turn away to fill your prescription you notice the one picture on the wall. It is of Homer Plessy
Miles Davis' "Kind Of Blue" forms an oddly synergistic auditory compliment to the sound of your prescription label being printed. I seemly emerge out of nowhere to tell you your cure is ready. You ask only why your co-pay is so high.
"Why is anything?" I say. "Why is anything............" my voice tails off as the cash register spits out your credit card approval.
"Enjoy your gift." I say softly as you make your way to the door. As the light of day blinds you while you step back onto the street you think you hear me say......
"Enjoy your struggle. It's the only one you'll get"
Yeah. I'll be totally fucking rich with this idea. Beats the crap out of all the happy pie in the sky bullshit every other drugstore is shining up your ass.
Fuck her too.
If nothing else my drugstore of darkness will leave me far more emotionally satisfied. I'm going back to staring at the wall now.