Mallwalking

I walk into Mervyn's with a package under one arm. It is long like a rifle. The alarm at the door goes off. I tell a clerk. She says, "Oh, don't worry. It does that. It'll do that when you leave too." I think: today might be a good day to check out their 52" TVs.
At the pastry counter: An employee stands at the display case picking the nuts off the top of a bear claw. "Yum," she says to another employee. "Are these almonds?" "Yeah, I think so." "They're good," says employee Number One and she pops another into her mouth.
Two women in their 90s (really) resting on a bench.
Woman #1: Arterial Sclerosis. It runs in my family.
Woman #2: Bad stuff.
Woman #1: I really have to watch my diet.
If I were Woman #1 I'd have a Big Mac on the way home.
I'm looking more and more like a mallwalker. One of those gray haired women in cardigans and white tennis shoes who walk the perimeter of the mall 20 times. I once joined a writing group where everyone was writing a novel. So I did too. I mean, how hard could it be? My book was called The Mallwalkers. It was a mystery. It's on a lower shelf in my writing room. Right where it should be.