From the havoc of the interstate you merge across two lanes of unaccommodating traffic as if you were running point on a military convoy bound on a seek and destroy mission through hostile territory in order to access the parking lot. The rotting corpse of faulty asphalt is riddled with cracks and potholes like weeping scars of necrosis which are strewn about with all varieties of filth and trash which give it the all too similar appearance of festering and stillborn maggots. As you exit your vehicle you involuntarily find yourself in prayerful supplication to every deity which might insure no theft or destruction may fall upon your vessel by some miraculous protective spell over the rabid flocks of violent birds and an even more ravenous and deranged assortment of humanoids loitering in vehicles with bared feet, standing abjectly with exposed and unsightly mid-rifts, and all of them watching you with those ominously dead-eyed and penitentiary perfected kinds of sinister stares.
When you reach the entryway you feel a sense of dark and shadowy dread which is almost overwhelming in response to the way the glare of artificial florescent light seems to highlight all the abominable angles of humanity which no eyes were meant to see. It is like the blood-dripping jaws of the holocaust are opened wide to swallow you whole as you are greeted by some ancient relic which the reaper of death himself has refused to go near in order to usher unto that final realm of ultimate despair either in fear of this place or in dread of the Cuthulu-aged specimen's company. From here you are vomited into the gastric intestines of aisles where mutilated cattle-like people which may very well have stories of having been abducted by aliens only to be exiled here once some morbid series of unimaginable experiments were completed, or even more likely failed and abandoned.
The aisles are all littered and congested much like the arteries of these humanoid creatures which either waddle through these cloistered constructs or cruise chaotically around on their obesity accommodating bumper carts like kamikaze impersonating demolition derby drivers. You don't have to be religious to imagine nearly all of these people to be possessed by malevolent demons on some kind of hourly shore-leave upon earth where they now scurry to wreak as much chaos, havoc, and destruction as possible before they are forced to return to the more tame and structured realm from whence they've come. Many of these demonic beasts carry with them a plague of swarming children which shriek and scream in ways which fill the very air itself with a sense of cringing terror beyond that of any imaginable cryptozoological abomination.
You will undoubtedly find the shelves to be as empty and devoid of all substantial sustenance as the abandoned and forsaken skulls and spirit-spaces where the respective minds and souls of these insipid inhabitants. All you will find amidst the void of necessities is the discounted wreckage of worthless plastic, sugar saturated, and fat-flooded food-like products which would have been required to display skull-and-cross-bone symbols in any responsible age. As you wander through the wreckage and decay of what had once upon an unfathomable eon been a part of some civilized society, you will invariably realize that all hope has died within you, and it is now rotting like the molded, bruised, and neglected produce which seems to belong to this place about as well as an innocent child might be suited to the debauched parlor of a whorehouse.
When your dread, despair, and demoralization have reached what ought to be the very zenith of their potential depravity you will learn the true depths of this infinite abysmal realm and realize just how vast, boundless, and empty this scene may be as you scan the checkout lines to see them like the trenches of some apocalyptic battleground where oblivion and horror preside over this tepid tableau. Most of the check-stands will appear like the exclusion zones of some nuclear disaster where no living thing may ever appear within any proximity ever again, while one or two lanes may still be attended by some lobotomized zombie which stares into the otherworldly void beyond it with slackened and gaping jaws which seem to slowly scream in oozing breathless tones no ears should ever hear, and yet your soul will supernaturally seem to sense, and dread, and fear. Then you may gaze unto the lines which seem to stretch back beyond the very horizons of the universe itself from these inhuman scanning-slaves, as you find yourself resigning to attempt to use the self-inflicted checking stands which appear about as promising of any relief from this madness as a rusty bullet laying half covered in dust at your feet may inspire you to wonder if just maybe the primer can still be struck if only to penetrate your own skull and end this infernal atrocity in some unmerciful way. This false hope will undoubtedly backfire as you realize the damned souls ahead of you are actually far are less qualified to drag items across a barcode-scanning surface than the zombified lobotomy cases which you had thought yourself wise to have avoided like the plague only to now become afflicted by this utterly stagnant infestation of futility incarnate.
Should you ever make it out of this infernal realm of unfathomable suffering, you may only hope to find your way to some other hell as places like home or reality will seem to be concepts of some forgotten epoch which archeologists have only theorized with great skepticism to have ever possibly existed. You will stumble back to your vehicle with a sense of defeat and hopelessness unrivaled by even the mutilated inmates of some pow camp which had escaped the bombed-out wreckage of the ruins where their captors had bound them in tortured servitude in ways which had made them count themselves among the dead far in advance of their conflicting liberation. As you pile your items into your vehicle you may very well envision yourself casting your own body into a mass grave instead of piling these worthless things into the uncaring storage space of your vacant vessel. The newly acquired scratches, dents, or cracks you view upon the surface of your vehicle may not even register as more than trivialities or novelties as you crawl into the driver's seat and drift away in automated ataxia as your lizard brain attempts to salvage whatever part of you is left to it.
After you have traveled a few miles you may be fortunate enough to recover some semblance of higher cognitive functioning, that is if you aren't given the sweet absolution of death to render you eternally away from this realm of colloquial condemnation. Your more perceptual and contemplative mind may reveal to you certain revelations about your life as many of those afflicted by unimaginable near-death experiences have been known to do. You may realize how short life is, how easily it can be taken away, or how much of it you have already squandered in ways which you may never retrieve or make amends. Unfortunately, this will all likely wear off and be forgotten by the next time you notice that there are a few things on your next shopping list which you will somehow feel compelled to retrieve in the way a dog may return to its own vomit to lap it all up again.
All things considered... three stars.
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