The shopping city süd. A large complex of seventies buildings, stuffed full of large and small Austrians looking for something to buy. They’ve all gone out and done something. Done something so they could go buy something; make somebody else do something. Like, make them a sandwich at that snack bar. Write them a book at the bookstore? Knit them some socks…? No, wait. Engineer a sock-knitting machine for them? Mix some chemicals so they’ll smell nice. My nose is clogged. I’m not smelling anyone.

I watch a little pubescent girl with too much make-up scurry off behind one of the nick-nack stalls before a rather large man’s silhouette takes her place in my field of vision. I’m standing at what seems to be a crossing point of four uninterrupted streams of hunter-gatherers, all making their way, at awkward angles, through this rather strange intersection; about 10 square meters of dull-gray tiles around me are completely empty. Everyone is rushing past them. Why am I here? Not, why am I here, in the broad philosophical or slightly drunk way you would normally expect of me, but why am I standing on these tiles that everyone else just races past. Everyone seems to have somewhere to go, somewhere to be, something to return, a greeting card to buy. Maybe I should buy a greeting card. Who would I greet? Greeting cards don’t greet, mostly they congratulate. They pat you on the back or slap you in the face. I like the ones with stand-up cardboard contraptions and Taiwanese transistor-buzzers. Happy Birthday to me…

The pubescent girl is back. She’s gazing past an overdressed mannequin from the inside of a fashion store. Gazing as if she had suddenly realized that it didn’t really matter whether she bought the shirt in green or in blue or whether there actually was any point in trying, so desperately, to become just a little bit like the mannequin. Wishful thinking. She’s watching fashion TV on the video wall.

Still standing here. How awkward. I wonder what people think? I’m waiting for someone. That’s probably what they think. I wonder how many of the people that I’ve always thought are waiting for someone were actually just lost in thought. All of them? None of them? I wonder how many of the people shifting past me have ever thought of that, and are now considering that I might not actually be waiting for anyone, but may just be, well, lost in thought. Probably none. Her maybe. No. She’s eying the candy store. Do it m’am. Dive in. Candy is good for you.

Shoes! That’s it! I need shoes! Wait. I have shoes. Old shoes. That’s right. Need new shoes. Maybe greeting shoes. A pair with a stand-up cardboard contraption and cheap Taiwanese electronics. No. Horrible. That doesn’t go on shoes! You can’t steal the awesome from A and hope it will make B equally awesome. You can’t take a delicious pizza topping and put it on your winter tires. God, what is wrong with me! Focus! Shoes! Humanic at three o’ clock. They shell shoes, on the she sore! I let the humanoid pneumatic stream of customers to the left of me suck me in.

Standing in the shoe store now. Very bright. Probably for marketing reasons. Someone figured out bright light sells more shoes. Then someone else calculated the price of brighter lights in relationship to the increase in shoe-store income they would stimulate. Then a team of managers decided it was profitable and approved these excruciatingly bright lights. I’m not letting you screw with me! I’m putting on my sunglasses. Take that corporate fuck heads! I win! No I don’t… I want shoes!

They do have an awful lot of shoes here. Only natural I guess, they are a shoe store. I feel overwhelmed. I just don’t care! I just want shoes! I don’t want to decide which ones! I don’t want to take off these shoes. They’re fine. Screw this.

Out I go. Floating towards the exit now. Almost there. A grinning store employee is blocking my way. Shove her? Probably not a good idea. Oh no. Here it comes. The broadening grin, the how may I help you sir, the are you looking for something specific and, by the way, may we have your liver sir?

I turn around in a motion intended to communicate capitulation. I smile vaguely as if it had all been a big mistake and I had just forgotten to actually buy shoes. Oh no m’am, don’t worry about me. Please don’t use your mind games on me, I’ll be a good consumer, I promise. I’ll buy this. Three of these please. Rubber boots. Probably not. They’re on sale though…

Must. Get. Out of here! Black sneakers. Hooray! How much are they. 49,95. Is that much? How do I check? How much is this other pair? No tag. Fuck it. I’m sure it’s normal. I kick off a shoe and try the sneaker. Too small. What’s my size again? This one. 43. This one fits. Back in the box it goes. I stuff the box under my arm and grin at the shoe store employee as I extract my wallet from my pants.

I wish shoes could be purchased in a fashion similar to electricity…
Basic needs, man. Water, power, heating, shoes. What is all the fuss about?