Retail therapy? I like shopping. Sometimes, I indulge my unhappiness with a new pair of shoes. Sometimes window shopping isn’t enough. Wandering around, checking things out, watching people and walking away with a brown paper shopping bag can be very therapeutic. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s not.
I hope you enjoy my prose poem.
A Day in Town
Click, clack, click, clack my arm bumps hard against the wall of the train. Why is the driver so rough? So fast? A bit like the past few days. Crazy moments piling one on top of the other. Exit Flinders Street through the nostalgia of yesteryear, still reeking of paint from its recent face lift. Destination: cosmetic section of Myers City Store; fizzy-dizzy, spritz and sprinkle, colours contrast with the pallid faces of sales staff. Not at all like Flinders lane, so quiet on a Friday morning.The creperie with apple compote, Apfel Kompot. Mama peeling Granny Smith apples in the kitchen adding sugar and cinnamon. Me a child then. The arcades bursting with eateries are not like the French place, with the waitress and her heavily accented English. ‘Just opened yesterday,’ she says proudly, Glitter adorns the floor of the extension in which we sit. Whimsical colours a remnant of the previous owners, mixed with cafe music.
The Tom Ford counter has little bottles neatly lined up. Tobacco Vanille, my favourite. My father smokes an expensive cigar, while I run around the room wearing a pink dress. I’m six. Shoppers mill around, parting each side of me, the waters of consumerism. ‘No thank you, I’m just looking,’ my response as sepia as my nostalgia. Pick up, put down, ponder, flip the price tag … repeat over and over. Indecision kills. I’m spacey. Dehydration maybe, its warm today. 7-Eleven rescues me, 2 bottles for $5.00, tick. Sitting in the mall as trams glide past through strains of pan pipes and the magic violin, I decompress. It’s still busy here but a breeze blows and the old Melbourne facades ponder the refurbished shop fronts. Retail therapy? Therapy? Not sure.