Sorry I had to repost this because it wasn’t letting me update :/
The bright lights illuminate the parks beyond the windows but inside the bright white tiles lay still and quiet. The tills sit without noise and the supervisors head away to their beds, calmed down at last from a lack of buzzers and an absence of complaints, finally, all the customers have headed home with their steaming chickens and icy wines, their arms struggling to hoist bags even to the sliding doors, they run quickly out the front to their cool cars as the full moon shines down on them, urging them on faster.
In the back, boxes lay dormant hoping and wishing for a spot out the front, a chance to see the people, through the rolling doors from the warehouse the once cheery music has faded and the smiles from staff have morphed into a thin line across their faces. Above the clean white floor and within once-bustling offices the radios have finished playing and the idle monitors illuminate the dull paintings with a faint light, barely filling the room. Across the street, a single bike lays cold, abandoned by late workers, left staring up at the stars, its rider now far off lost in the maze of items inside.
I remember many hours ago, the sun, still rising, painful and stubborn in my eye line, packed inside the trample of feet fill my ears and mumbles of conversation rattle me inside, spread along the front of the store the tills screech into customer and staff ears alike as items speed over them, guided by delicate hands extreme consistency. The supervisor, skating on the reflective tiles, race to each raised arm to lend a hand or an ear to their loyal staff, metres away at the entrance the customers flood the store in droves, each of their restless arms driving trolleys as if to win an F1 race each of them rushes for the last roll of toilet paper and the best spot in line, eager to get home. Outside in the parks, the sun beats down on the pale skin of each shopper as they race to their hot metal boxes, they each sit down and carry themselves with a screech and a thump out the driveway and on their way to their larger steel box at home. The boxes sitting within the warehouse rush in and out the swishing doors, carried by stressed-out packers as they compete to fill the shelves left empty by rabid customers, each of them scraping up the last of the bread, desperate for their yeasty loaf of goodness. Past the large quiet door but above the crowd’s happy music plays in the speakers and staff grin at each other their patrons to avoid an awkward stare-off, neither of them wishes to say a word, neither of them with a connection. Down the hallway from the loyal staff and hidden above the customers the immense amount of data flows out of every brightly lit computer, each of them helping out the workers down below, money flowing through the web, grins can be seen on the owner. Keyboards echo out into the room and heard from a distance by every anxious manager, fingers crossed and touching wood. Out the windows and across the street, bikes line the fence, ditched by hoards running late for their day at work.
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