Sensual depravity and dogma

I am not sure when I began to go to the store by myself. I do know that it was intoxicating, the power of choice and the freedom to spend as much time as I wanted just wandering the halls and exploring places I had never really taken the time to visit before.

I know in my teen years I would visit the store often, daily and sometimes more than once a day. I liked everything about the experience. When I started to drive, I would visit other stores, just to check them out, note the differences, but often return to my tried and true. When you have a store that is all yours, and you understand its secrets, then you know you can always return there.

When I moved away to college I thought I would lose interest in stores, because well, the need to express my independence became less necessary in college, where independence was a given. Still, I would find myself walking off campus, exploring exotic stores in the areas around campus. Some were scary, because in one direction away from the school, there was an intimidating slum, filled will all sorts of dangers and perversions. That said, the store there was fascinating. I would slink away after a midday class, head to the slums and burrow my way into the store, finding it shabby and a little stinky, like it was a store that sold used stuff, but that was not the case. The woman who manned the cash register always greeted me with a smile. I would ask about toothpaste or something, take her direction and head off. The aisles were slapped together and a mess, which in itself was comforting. Every now and then I would be bothered by a mean looking homeless person, or a dangerously drugged teen and I would promise myself never to return, but a week or two later, I was back, looking for nothing and finding everything I needed.

In the other direction from the campus there were pristine houses and a large well lit grocery store that was open 24 hours. Sometimes I would get wasted at a party on campus, stroll over to the 24 hour store, at 2 in the morning, a little buzzed and a little self conscious, and the clerks would turn the music up loud while they restocked the shelves. Sometimes we would all dance, just a spur of the moment punk rock extravaganza. Sometimes we would all just groove on the loud music and in inanity of it all.

As I aged I lost touch with the joy that a simple visit to a store can bring. I no longer look for the special surprises, choosing instead to quickly get in and get out and move on with my super important life. That is what happens, when you are young, the store is incredibly alluring and you have the time to invest in its mystery. As you get older, children and jobs and survival become much more of an issue, while stores and the time spent in them become more of a duty than a perfect afternoon.

I thought about my history with stores today, as I was luxuriating at a new found store in a beautiful old neighborhood I accidentally discovered. In the back of this converted warehouse, which is now a bit of a coffee roaster, book shop and natural food emporium, I found an old over stuffed couch, sitting alone, looking like it could use some weight. Weight is something I have plenty to share, so I sat and enjoyed the view. Hippies of all forms and shapes wandered by in the haze that only hippies seem to attain. We would smile at one another and I would drift off as they floated away, all of us in touch with something more profound than we could possibly understand.

The smell of roasting coffee, the buzz of conversations in the distance and the near absorption of the couch of much of my body left me groggy, so I slept.