Jacob Lawrence, "Market Scene" (1966)
Jacob Lawrence, Market Scene (1966)
Can a Game Be Literature?

Mark's Pages

February 8, 2009:

Pudgy kid with a pageboy haircut pulls a wheel from a portable barbecue, rolls it wobbling across the floor, where old people, frail and unsteady, fail to see it.

Noise, children, mayhem: running down aisles, shouting, knocking over displays. Parents elsewhere, calmly oblivious.

Angry voice: "You can't just sit there all day. I'm the manager of this store and I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Surprised: "I'm waiting for my wife to finish shopping." Frustration: he's turned his back on me while I'm speaking to him. Catches sight of my wife, realizes who she is, says, still not looking at me, "Oh, you're with her." Fuming, raised voice: "Yes, as I just told you." Then under my breath, but loud enough to be heard, passive-aggressive: "Fucking little asshole." So that the entire store draws its breath.