This morning at 11 am
In that superstore on that busy road lined with trees, one particular skin cream is selling fast. The woman in front of her has just bought two jars. And why not? The cream promises to reduce scars, fine lines and wrinkles by 40%. Perhaps using two jars' worth may wipe out twice as many lines and half-way through the third, the skin will be smooth as a baby's bottom. She picks up a jar and looks at the photo on the packaging. I am rich, successful, happy, the jar-woman seemed to say. I am also debt and wrinkle-free. The jar holds out such promise, such hope that she turns around and grabs another one. She rushes home and runs to the mirror. Her fingers dig out a small mountain of the cool pomade. She lifts the sleeve of her blouse and spreads it on her bruises. Any moment now, her life will change.