How I Survive Working at the Mall There is a glass front to another woman’s shop about a hundred yards over. I imagine it full of Mesanities. I imagine my hair being down and my legs shaved, my body more streamlined, my clothes more elegant. And, standing in the glass front’s frosty glow I would slowly strip out of my skirt, and blouse, and bra, and panties, and shoes, and garters and stockings. And I would walk, sideways, up the naked glass. I would step carefully and precisely. I would look in at the clustering chin-dropped fashionably frugal women like a lady on a date glancing into an aquarium of not very tropical fish. I would give them a fabulous view of my voluptuously curving feet, the gaping red open of my unused cunt, the thick scars on the undersides of my breasts. And I would let them look and maybe they would recognize the mirror-glass.



03.16.97
11.29.03  ¶ 4:47 AM