Ozark Sundays

nothing is open on sundays. nothing.

Nothing is open on Sundays.

Unless, of course, you count the cornrows and the churches. HELL IS REAL, yell the billboards lining the highways that make up the main streets in town. AH-MEN, reply the congregations, in unison. 

Hell lurks behind the cornrows, and you are foolish enough to have not set an alarm last night. Now you wander the streets, locked out of the shop you live and work at because the owner does not know you stay there, nor does he know you in the first place, so you do not have a key.

None of the doors are unlocked.

You frantically throw yourself against the door. Your watch is broken. It's not your fault, you think pathetically.

By the time the churches let out, dusk will have fallen and the only memory left of you will be your things in a back room of a shop.