We mention not the SUPERMARCHCE

We mention not the supermarche.

We mention not the quiet soothing lulls of a march around the aisles, in search of the snafu-like sustenance, failing to nutritionalize ourselves.

Oh! He whimpers.

Oh!

The one eyed gentleman on the spiraled-cat. He beckons to your gallbladder, a memory of Honshu.

The Supermarche floods with pinkish waves, a deluge in a desert.

The government federalies cordon off the region. Survivors are shot on sight.

We mention not the supermarche.