almost_everything raze this place has everything. or almost everything. food is what i'm here to find. every fillet of frozen fish has a name i haven't heard before. each piece of poultry owns a face i can't bring myself to believe in. they don't even have the bread i want. i wander over to the digital pianos. i set up a split mode. form a few chords. there are stacks of keyboards that stretch as high as my eyes can climb, from flimsy entry-level offerings to expensive undertakings that seem to shimmer and scowl at anyone unwise enough to touch them. i stop at a segment of sculpted stone that's as tall as i am. feathered between its fingers are three lined leaves of paper. one of these is a note from my grandfather, written to his second-born son at a time when he would have been too young to understand its import. thirty years before i was born, a man who spent most of his life aloof and alone tattooed something tender on a legal pad. on the flip side, he carved up pictures of his children and himself, unfastened their faces from their bodies, and glued them together in such a way that they came to resemble three bereaved balloons, touching without taking flight. i carry this with me on my way out, knowing i don't have enough cash in my pocket to cover what it's worth. 250615 what's it to you? who go blather from