How to Find Peace at the End of the World by Saro Yen Read Free Book Online

Wait a second, what am I doing? That’s going to start a fire or something. I stand there and consider for a few moments how I’m going to mount the boxes. Then I head back inside. I return with all sorts of hardware, brackets and pieces of lumber, and power tools too. I’ve always been sort of handy with tools and in no time I have a stand that will keep the vents on the boxes clear so they can hum along while I drive.

This modification done, I get back to the more important task: I walk through the food aisles looking for things that will last. I stop by the produce section, all the rows and rows of bright orbs stacked atop one another. In a few weeks they won’t be anything more than pools of mold. I grab a few bags of apples and oranges. Bananas. Kiwis. No pineapples. Hate pineapples. Unopened cases of berries. Carrots. Celery, even the celery will no longer be of this supermarket world (probably should stock up on peanut butter, too). All the things I might not have an easy way to get very soon. I think I need more carts. I get two more and lash them to the first with belts from the clothing section.

Bread. Need some bread. What lasts the best? Croissants? Or those radioactive white, calcium enriched rolls you can get in the bagged bread aisle? I go with a mix of all of them, not really knowing what I’ll get sick of.

The freezer aisle stumps me. Most of the stuff is still frozen solid. Heck, the doors haven’t even been opened in hours. I won’t be able to handle very much, of course. The freezer is a luxury but it aint all that large.
    I wonder if the Beast’s bank of four regular sized car batteries that my boss had one day popped the hood to proudly show me, can handle the draw from two mini appliances. Look at me. Planning like this thing is going to be long term. Hours hence, when I get to Dallas I’ll be sitting down to a hot meal I bet. I shake the thought away.

I swing towards the back of the store to the drinks section. I’d already loaded up on bottled water the day before. I eye the racks of “fresh squeezed” orange and apple juice in their stay fresh containers. I grab a couple of those, too.

I pass over all the other aisles, all the various stuffs of conspicuous consumption and I find, even in the state of puzzlement and...remorse...that I’m drawn to these little baubles. I remember telling Amy my need for a new blender very recently. I remember spending a now seemingly embarrassing fifteen minutes talking over the phone about it, actually. A blender. Now my eyes caress it before I have a chance to scoff and shake my head. I begin walking through the rest of the store, my eyes flowing past all of the errata, all of the flotsam of human civilization, for something I might need. I have to laugh, actually, running against all that social conditioning. New microwave. Bean bag chair. Papa-san. Fishing poles. Golf clubs. All things I had ear marked in my other life as needs. All things that now cause another reflexive twinge. All here for the taking. You’d wanted it, right? No, not really. I push the cart on. In the automotive section I grab a few more batteries before I realize I have no ideas whether the ones I have are even sufficient for the Beast. I leave my cart and walk outside, pop the hood, take note of the batteries. Back inside I grab four of them and twelve cans of Fix-a-flat while I’m at it.

I hop over the counter of the pharmacy. Some antibiotics that I know about, some pain killers, some modafinil, some bandages. I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing so I take some OTC stuff too. I swing by the center back section and grab some boots and rain slicks. I pass the guns. Guns. I’ve always liked guns. It’s just that I’ve always also been kind of intimidated by them. I grab a couple of shotguns, because I hear shooting them is fun, and since I can’t find the key to the handgun counter, I take one of the batteries and throw it at the case from afar. I