Her feet slide across the sterile white tiles, past store windows that hold perfectly cut red baubles and snowflakes, while the strains of Mariah Carey's voice fight against his determination. Obese couples lugging around obese children and even more obese shopping bags, containing plastic items that will be forgotten next month. Young men and women wander the halls, looking for the perfect gift for that perfect person who will be forgotten for the next month. Little children sit on a fat man's lap and tell him they want puppies, candy, and world peace for Christmas, wishes that will be forgotten when the fat man leaves for another year. Old people sit on benches, hoping that everything might last a little longer than expected. All these different creatures walk under fake icicles and huge baubles and banners that say they know the perfect gift for your recipient, despite the fact that there are so many. lots of people to have different gifts for. All these notions of perfect gifts, holiday cheer, and giving gifts to others will disappear with the first bitter wind of January. Looking around, Arden marvels at how temporary it all is, that magical time of year when everyone seems to remember the charities and people they love, to really think about them for once, and how all this is supported by a monstrous economy which feeds on this fleeting affection for our fellow human beings. His moccasins barely make a sound on the tiles and his appearance is as monochrome as his steps are monotonous; a gray sweater and dark jeans cover her curvy figure, and her thick hair is tucked into a black knit hat. It's a tactic used to try to make it as imperceptible as a piece of dried gum... middle of paper... when he hears the door slam, and turns to Arden with his arms around him. open. . The two friends kiss, alone in the small shop. “Who do you need for this year?” » he asks. Arden blushed a little at the knowing question: “Iona, Monroe, Darian, Jacklynn and Bernard. Oh, and Jamie too. "A bit of a long list this year, eh Herbert?" he winks. The old man preferred the girl's last name to her first name; he insisted it suited her better. Regardless, this year's list was much shorter than last year's. Arden ignored the comment: "You remember what I got them last year." else?" The old man took the next twenty-three minutes to wander among the rows of novels, taking them out here and placing them there. At this time, Arden was finishing his own novel, which was tedious and interesting, and listening. twelve Beatles songs through the speakers..