Story 1: Shoplifting

“Put that down” spat his mother. He was irked, but essentially tame. He pulled back the baggy suit jacket sleeve that poorly concealed the item and replaced it on the shelf with a discreet ‘clack’. The shop assistant, having witnessed all in a curved mirror, let out a relieved sigh and loosened her grip on the sweaty screwdriver.

“Now we must leave, because of you, because of what you’ve done” mother scolded. He squirmed out a contrite nod, it strained from his body like the last impossible remnants of an exhausted toothpaste tube. They left the shop and lumbered slowly down the street. Their progress was slow for different reasons. Her; she was sprightly, despite being a woman of advancing years, but she favored a slim skirt which gave her a diminished gait. Him; because over years the slow calcification of his soul had disseminated a chalky residue that’d built up from the foot like an internal stalagmite, the weight of which manifested in the slow pendulous lollop of the defeated.

“You shouldn’t steal” she reminded him, “stealing is wrong, when you steal, no matter what you steal, you’re stealing a brick from the foundation of our society.” she persisted.

He nodded again, in the same manner. 

“What were you trying to take anyway?” she probed.

“It was ah, a pepper…”, he clicked his fingers twice, hoping that would defibrillate his congested mind, “...dispenser”. That was true, it was one of the ones that together with the salt look like two people embracing. Alone it looks like a spooky ghost.

“Why would you want that?” she asked.

“Because fuck you, that’s why.”

“Richard! No Richard!”