Zombies in the Parking Lot

We wound thru the parking lot back toward the freeway. We rolled along slowly, because people were converging, zombie-like, on the store from all directions.

Their eyes were glazed, their faces fixed on the doors of the store and the electronics that lay just inside. They left their air conditioned vehicles and made the treacherous walk to the air conditioned aisles, sweat dripping from their foreheads, seemingly staggering in the summer heat. (In truth, the rains had cooled things off substantially.)

I hate this, I muttered.

Trudy thought I was talking about the crowded parking lot. I wasn't.

This didn't have to be a Fry's. It could have been a Best Buy. It could have been a Wal-Mart. It could have been a shopping mall. You know the places — big boxes sitting on the far side of big concrete parking lots to hold all the cars that bring all the people who throw away their money on things they don't need and won't use and will break before they've served any useful purpose.

I hate this, I muttered, thinking that this is what we have come to.

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