WORDS BY EMILY WOOD & PHOTOS BY DIYANA NOORY
Bake me into the wonder bread and twinkies. Simple stuff, a body.
Convenience stores are the pillars of
modern society. Along with libraries and the
statue of liberty there are the shops on corners.
The property that most people don’t want,
in between the bricks of better buildings. The laws
of physics state that no more than three people
can be in one at once. You, the guy who’s looking at
porn, and someone’s dad behind the counter.
I want to eat a bong shaped cake. Maybe
dip my hair in it to get in other people’s
mouths. Live in a house built only out of
the wrappers of kit kats and some empty
energy drinks. I always wanted to touch
the cigarettes behind the counter.
Always wanted to stick them in
between my lips and my tongue and chew.
When I was 13 we would all go to the
corner store and drink fizzy pop
and lick ice cream. The height of my existence
to consume the guts of what’s easy. I began
to feel bad about my body and wouldn’t
eat hot chicken nuggets anymore. Only some
grape soda and a bag of salt and vinegar
chips. Cold. Slicked with sweat.
The kicker is that when I desired convenience
most I wouldn’t let myself have it. I wanted
the magazines with tits in them and a hand
full of skittles. Was never allowed,
I had all the quarters but none of the nuts.
My body didn’t digest properly, the skin
and the sugar too much. Bake me into the
wonder bread and twinkies. Package me,
50 cents a piece. Simple stuff, a body.
Sometimes I find mine in my local convenience
store. Sometimes I let it rot in the bathroom
OUR LAST SUMMER
SLOW DESCENT OF THE SUMMER
IN PRAISE OF THE PHASE
WISH YOU HERE
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