Jurassic Store

My hands currently look as though some small rodent has been gnawing on them in the night while my conciousness wanders other worlds. I counted fifteen small gashes on my right forefinger and thumb today at diner. The culprit, however, is in fact the biting shelves at work. Not only did the batting mutate into a giant amoeba, but the fixtures have grown fangs and developed some kind of primitive conciousness evidenced by their agressive behaviour toward those who invade their personal space as well as a rapidly growing appitite for meat - or maybe it’s just the blood they like.
Perhaps this is part of why they want to move the store. If we stayed much longer we might find ourselves featured in some made-for-TV horror flim in which customers start disappearing while bloodcurdling screams echo down the isles, and employees fall victim to the vampire shelves.