Late night shopping at the supermarket the inner urban whites have segregated them selves to. Car was still hot inside from getting blasted by the sun all day, damp humid air out of the dashboard and taste of the water from the sink at the electronics club out of a shared cup and five miles of old iron pipes is still there but now in my bladder.  I step off the escalator pushing my trolley full of californian jalapeno wheels and HP sauce and bran and crackers.  The long paper docket tells me my toothpaste cost some new thing called summer prices. Its too relaxed for marauders in the yellow lit carpark, now that the awful sun has turned to a tame sunset but my fingers find the hijack lock on the console while the warm isocol out of the glovebox melts the viruses and dries off into antiseptic vapor. Empty roads and I drive alongside the shine from the bright H4 globes in new headlights. Speed limit seems too fast but I got cold butter to worry about. I dont remember what I bought, that doesnt worry me. Good Night NEETs.