Notes on Jack Attack

From our walks down the river it is clear time is passing. Plants grow, apples are ripening, the green tight lumps are reddening then passing, bruiselike, in to blackberries. The corpse of a woodpigeon rots, the sparrowhawk chicks fledge and learn to hunt. The days grow shorter. Yet in Asda nothing has changed. For 2 years I have checked most days and all is static. The illusion of time is perpetuated by staff who change the papers, concocting and developing unlikely stories. The DVDs change. New releases go down in price as days pass. As we looked at the remains of the jacko filth there was little remaining. Clearly either Asda isnt real, it is a figment of our imaginations, a construct of our mutual belief in it's existence. I looked at K in shock , he stared back eyes warped with fear. If Asda was but a construct then we, ourselves were probably a figment of someone elses imagination. But who? No one cares that much. The only truth could be that we are the figment of our own imaginations. I punched K hard, he kicked my shin to check. The us that had imagined the us we are now were quickly constructed and discarded 2d translucent figures, perhaps from the checkout girls minds. We had been debris like McDonalds food wrappers and only ourself importance had sustained our physical form. This must be why it was so easy to shoplift, to remove all the Jackson recordings. Outside we stared back at Asda. It was a flimsy flat construct, good enough to fool the passing glance but almost 2 dimensional on closer inspection. We looked at the close by nature reserve to confirm our discovery. The complexity bore no resemblance to the quickly sketched Asda. The steady flow of peoiple could not be real either. Mulling over these thoughts we retreated to the cemetry to watch green woodpeckers.