After the staff announcement, the voice of Hulion was replaced by a rude blasting of musics, slammed into the gaping air at the midpoint of a song, rather than its beginning. The shock of it made all the people freeze and it took a few bars, a couple of runs of that gaudy chorus, before they could snag the rhythm of it and understand life again. One thudding beat was replaced by another, a switch from female singer to male, from the plonking of keyboards to the strum of guitar. Toes tapped, hips swung, and before long everyone had taken an opposite partner, and the aisles were waltzing with debris dosey doe.
This was how they remembered sex - a dangerous, exciting moment. They could eat, they could talk, and now they could dance and forge jealousies and deduce nudity and tease words and wrestle metaphor. Fluids moved against each other, eyes rocked in sockets, personalities lay strewn across the fridges, smeared, scarred and eulogised. After the tenth song, a new old fury had settled like dirty snow. They plugged their ears with cherry stones and chickpeas and smeared ketchup across the faces of the beautiful smilers on the advertising boards, and then tore them down and ate them.