Walking down the aisle, I see row upon identical row of bottles... sporting nifty labels identifying their contents as opiates, stimulants, hallucinogenic and analgesics.
Their names are so similar, so rhythmic and soothing that after minutes of passing them by they become a natural chant in the foreground of my thoughts,
One foot, always prompting itself ahead of the other... carrying on like a wound up toy with no eventual liberation.
I ponder my path, my encoded route, and mull my undisclosed yet immutable destination.
How badly I wish to rest... to simply halt for a few momentous seconds and not bear the doubtless hazards of forging on.
But really, what good would it provide me?
The others would surely march on without me... leaving me to chase after their wake of intoxicating powder.
And so I persist... lifting my feet high into the charged atmosphere, a storm snatching at my dusty heels... only to plunder towards the unfamiliar and deepening trail.
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