Save This Man from Mall Ratism

There is a danger of my becoming a mall rat. Horrible as this sounds, it is my solution to the absence of wireless in my new residence. The landlord says I am hooked up but Windows is not able to connect to the thing. I get it for free here at Trumbull Babylon which has the advantage of being only one bus ride away; that is, I do not have to change buses in order to get here.

The constant blasting of music is a bit hard to take, but it is only a matter of attempting to block it out. Most times I am successful, but at others it does come through one ear and out the other like a rusty dental drill.

Another advantage to this place is the presence of not one, but two – count ‘em, folks, two – Starbuck’s locations. One is in a Target store and the other has its own storefront. Today I had lunch at the storefront location and did not have my normal venti caffe' Americano. Instead, I had a smoothie of banana and mango. I will not have this again for a while. The smoothie itself probably was very good but my taste buds seem to be a little disordered from the chemotherapy.

Speaking of chemotherapy, the rash from the Erbitux shows up primarily on my face and is a sight to behold. Periodically, chunks of my face fall off and they are not particular as to when, where or in front of whom they do it. I have gotten used to it, but it seems as though every stranger I see is staring to see this bizarre wonder that used to be my face.

Meanwhile, here are Trumbull Babylon, it seems fair to stare back. Some of the fashion statements here are no less bizarre than a scaly face that sheds unpredictably. I have seen in just a couple of hours sights that no one should be made to view. Exposed skin seems to be the indicator of fashion awareness. The more adipose tissue that is revealed the better, the rule seems to say. That and ugly tatoos.

Another thing that strikes me here is the fashion posters. Most of the male models in these posters seem to have their arms folded, chins tucked into their chests with their heads tilted to one side or another, with what I suppose is the gangster glare cominbg from their eyes. The majority of the female models seem to be either extremely angry or horribly constipated. Just the stuff to make me want to get into fashion.

Well, if I do turn into a mall rat, I certainly hope to be able to live up to the image here. There already is a start to a roll on my gut, so if I start cutting my shirts off at the bottom, I could get in on that count. A surly look will surely need to come along in time and I am sure I can manage that if they keep playing that outlandish stuff they call music. Meanwhile, I’ll just try to remain undercover.