Watching people in public shopping centres is like watching caricatures of human beings acting out their roles in a circus.
There’s often someone highly agitated by a plethora of script meds, standing in a line trying to look normal.
Then there’s the shuffler, who shuffles about. Slow moving, slow to react and with a look of pained confusion on his face. This one sets the pace for the others, especially on escalators.
A gay couple appears every now and then. They don’t care what people think of course, which is why they must look as gay as possible, and hold hands at all times despite the lack of space making it awkward.
The morbidly obese makes regular appearances in the food courts, he doesn’t need to eat but continues eating anyway while his government carer sits beside him scrolling Instagram.
Old White boomers sit around smiling and waving at Asian children while the kid just stares back at them through black eyes. The child is still too naturally racist to appreciate attention from ethnic aliens.
Middle-aged women are in and around the coffee shops, pretending to be excited by each other and making sure everyone within 20 meters can hear everything they’re saying. Their faces are all puffy from botox.
Indian midgets rush around with bags full of someone else’s food, speaking jibberish to someone through AirPods. You’re not supposed to notice how annoying they are or how quickly their numbers have grown.
Once in a while, I’ll pass by someone else just observing all this in the same way I am.
We somehow sense each other, exchange a knowing glance and I feel slightly uplifted at the thought that I’m not the last conscious human left in the area.
