An Ala Moana Christmas

Things look a hell of a lot like Christmas. The day after Halloween, for Christ’s sake. Mall decorations. The snow-banked gifts. I shop early. I contemplate what I might afford and stare in the frosted window. The way the employee in the coat and tie looks at me, he dares me to come. His look says, “Don’t’ even try.” I walk in, swallowing. “The cost of the smallest bottle of Chanel Number Five,” I choke out . His look shrinks my nuts. Kind of like the warmth of a banker’s glass eye.

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