Inspiration: The neighborhood Thrift Store.


Act: #1

To All Thrifters!

The Neighbourhood thrift store holds all the dice.
Selling clothes at a stellar price.
Fundraising programs just to be nice.
Trying to dividend everyone a slice.

They roll up even.
They have everyone believing.
Rolling against the odds.
They've implemented the mods.
The dice split apart.
Producing a path to a new start.

Behind the scenes.
We stand in teams.
Reinforcing our dreams.
We decide the current of the stream.
It flows however we deem.
We create the memes.

Act: #2

The Gift of Bags

In through the door, the bags just pour.
Enticed by the allure, what they contained, we couldn't be sure.
Baffled to our core, they kept piling up in cours.
It started to become a problem we couldn't ignore, as it filled up the entire store.

The donations piled high.
Some days they reached the sky.
We can't let that fly.
We'll need to make it comply.

The bags are our new thrones.
We sit upon them as we pick out what we condone.
Going through all the clothes known.
Choosing what to keep as our own.

People donate the strangest things.
This item was made for kings.
Who would discard a set of wings?
People are the strangest beings.

Practicing our shots into the bins.
An awry projectile hits our supervisor in the shin.
She acted as if she lost a leg.
Knocked down to one peg.
I wonder who is her next of kin?
We couldn't help but grin.
For mercy she proceeded to beg.
Before opening up another bag.

The clothes we don't like.
It gets thrown out on site.
Stuffed into re-donation bags without a fight.
Yet, moving them around takes all our might.

Re-donations we disown.
They get banished to the hole.
They sit there as bags of coal.
Until they're relocated to a home.

Upon the door, came a knock.
The room froze in shock.
A forehead poked itself past the frame.
He wanted to be let in on the games.

Act: #3

Storefront Traffick

Sent out to the front.
Setting out on a hunt.
Why do I have to take the brunt?
I'll show them I'm not simply a grunt.

The door fought on the way out.
We almost initiated a joust.
I took the usual route.
It didn't make me pout.

Clothes fallen off the racks.
Clothes turned to the back.
Clothes dangling across the racks.
Clothes piled the counter in stacks.

Before my eyes there was so much gore.
I couldn't handle seeing much more.
It's chipping away at my core.
Who was it again that came before?

I swim through a sea of fabric.
Fabric entwining around my hands.
Rearranging the sheltered strands to rest upon open stands.
Hopefully to be snipped from the stands, once again into another's hands.

The customers flood the building.
Questions are sung in plenty.
The music was overbearing.
I hummed the answers gently.
It felt like everybody was staring.
I set up at the counter as a sentry.

A dozen items to be sold.
The price of each of them, she told.
Bargaining for a discount, this lady would not fold.
I had to act rather cold.

Man, that lady was relentless.

Is it the right color, will it fit?
I'm gonna stand here and contemplate it for a bit.
Eyed it out before pulling out a measuring kit.
Man... This girl is lit.

Selling a leather vest embedded with an ominous crest.
All the while being told about their life conquests.
When she asked if I attested.
It felt like I forgot the answers to a test.

Man that woman was pretentious.

I need a chance to catch my breath.
I gotta get out of this mess.
I feel like calling for the press.
Who can I go and fetch?

Act: #4

Stock Boy

Transferred in-between jobs.
Now tagging clothing articles in the back.
Freedom has been robbed.
Delivering the supply out to the front racks.
No time to sit and sob.
Rushing past a colleague as he cracks.
I solemnly pushed against the knob.
It was determination that he lacked.

I had a list of materials to collect.
But the elusiveness of the clothing almost made me defect.
I could find every item besides what was correct.
Sometimes, misfortune is direct.

To the top of the summit, then all the way back down in a plummet.
An avalanche had cometh.
The failure had become pungent.

Kicking the clothes with force.
Blowing out the frustration with a shout so coarse.
Hanging my head over spilt clothes in remorse.
This result is the worst.

Sorting through the newly installed floor.
The frustration really tore.
I don't want to do this anymore.
Where can I find a cure?

My superior joins me in the back.
I had to conceal my despair with a little tact.
Eyeing me up ready to form a pact.
My supervisor readily collapsed into the pack.

The list has finally been collected.
I organized the selected.
Twirling the tagger to rest where I directed.
Inserting a tag into the elected.

Lifting a proportion with each hand.
A full rack is the demand.
Transported onto the front stands.
Our inventory now reflects a view rather grand.

Act: #5

Clocking Out

The final customer takes a step out of the building.
Nothing could stop the immense applauding.
Locking the entrance with utmost haste.
Freedom was something we could almost taste!

Tasks were dropped mid process.
This was no simple recess.
Stepping over an employee's withered carcass.
Farewells sent to the royal princess.

Pulled to the side for a final transaction.
Why am I always the one stuck in detention?
Concentration mode, full attention.
I will deter a suspension.

Counted the total in the register.
Then, filled out the transaction ledger.
The float I forgot to measure.
As I watched the ones in power become flustered, I couldn't help but to feel the pleasure.

After hours it can be chilling.
The desolation of an empty building.
Myths begin Manifesting.
Good thing nobody's here living.

Our building was created for the community.
An attraction waiting to be discovered.
Opened to all in the vicinity.
We're here hoping to be bothered.

We come together as a collective.
In the elimination process we are selective.
Our dedication is exhaustive.
That is, until we all defected.

© AShortJourney