Twenty-Four Hour Supermarket Carpark
The supermarket is open already. Of course it is probably open twenty-four hours a day. I slow down and turn into the carpark beneath the pink sky. Big rectangular boards advising of petrol prices tower up blackly against that vivid pinkness. I drive across the carpark diagonally, enjoying the absence of other cars, and choose a parking space near the entrance. A parking space near the entrance of the supermarket is a rare thing usually. For me, anyway. I feel like I am living in the future and the future is all giant empty carparks and empty twenty-four-hour supermarkets and pink skies and silhouettes. The future is a perpetual dimness, a perpetual pre-dawn light, and everybody in it is driving.