Aisle Five (Check Your Receipt: His Story)

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This is the man's story that ran with the same timeline as "Check Your Receipt (Aisle Five: Her Story)"

[Solo Guitar Intro — 8 bars, slow and steady]

[Spoken Word]
"Twelve o’clock... "
"Fluorescent light is poor..."
"That electric hum..."
"It’s a throb you can’t ignore..."

[Verse 1]
[Vocal: Laid-back Singer-Songwriter. Drag the delivery behind the guitar.]
Reflected in a pool of melted ice... by the freezer door.
And there you stand... a high-end find... on a scuffed-up bargain floor.
Cropped top... Short skirt...
Kinda neat... sweet as dessert.
Hands on hips... you’re lookin' elite...
Where the LIE-noh meets the smell of the packaged meat.
You’re checking the labels... for a bit of soul...
While I’m just wonderin' how I lost... total control.

[Verse 2]
I’m checking out the price o' beans...
But my thoughts are as faded... as the knees of these jeans.
You’ve got a bottle of STOLI... and a single, perfect lime.
I’ve got a lukewarm four-pack... and far too much time.
You take the oyster mushrooms... I grab the white.
You’re a weekend in Paris... I’m a rain-soaked Tuesday night.
You reach for the BREE... I grab the WENZ-lee DAYL.
My romantic prospects... are look-in' in-cred-ib-ly frail.

[Pre-Chorus]
I’m watchin' you glide... through the snack-food aisle...
It’s been years since I’ve seen... that kind of style.

[Chorus]
I shamble 'cross the scuffed LIE-noh floors...
Headin' through the automatic sliding doors.
I’m stuck in a life... that's Reduced to Clear...
While you’re the vintage harvest... of a golden year.
It’s a supermarket soul... in a plastic bag.
A technicolor dream... with a price-cut tag.
Waitin' for a clean-up... in aisle four.
That spilled milk... that I ignored.

[Bridge]
[The guitar thins out to a slow, resonant pluck.]
The sliding doors trap me... by the shoulder blades.
The sensors are broken... I’m losin' my shades.
I’m clutching my beer... like a holy prize.
Squinting my... "Reduced to Clear" eyes.
The car park's a wasteland of asphalt and grit,
Where the sodium lamps flicker... and the moths try to hit.
And for a second there... under the twenty-four hour sign...
[Long Pause]
I thought I was cryin'.

[Final Chorus / Reveal]
[The steady acoustic strumming returns.]
And there you are... leanin' on a rail.
The girl from the mushrooms and the WENZ-lee DAYL.
You haven’t vanished... you haven’t gone.
You’re checkin' your receipt... with your sunglasses on.
You look at my bag. You look at my face.
In this grey... exhausted... transit place.
And you hold up your STOLI, you hold up your hand...
And suddenly... I’m not that spill I imagined.
You’re waitin' for me... in the London grit.
And for once in my life... the bar-code fit.

[Spoken Word]
"Check-list..."
"Shop pin' done..."
"No more spills..."
"I think I’ve got some CLUB-card points..."
[Pause]
"Ack-shually..."
"I think I’ve got ev-ry-fin' I need..."

"And more."

[End]

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This is the man's story that ran with the same timeline as "Check Your Receipt (Aisle Five: Her Story)" [Solo Guitar Intro — 8 bars, slow and steady] [Spoken Word] "Twelve o’clock... " "Fluorescent light is poor..." "That electric hum..." "It’s a throb you can’t ignore..." [Verse 1] [Vocal: Laid-back Singer-Songwriter. Drag the delivery behind the guitar.] Reflected in a pool of melted ice... by the freezer door. And there you stand... a high-end find... on a scuffed-up bargain floor. Cropped top... Short skirt... Kinda neat... sweet as dessert. Hands on hips... you’re lookin' elite... Where the LIE-noh meets the smell of the packaged meat. You’re checking the labels... for a bit of soul... While I’m just wonderin' how I lost... total control. [Verse 2] I’m checking out the price o' beans... But my thoughts are as faded... as the knees of these jeans. You’ve got a bottle of STOLI... and a single, perfect lime. I’ve got a lukewarm four-pack... and far too much time. You take the oyster mushrooms... I grab the white. You’re a weekend in Paris... I’m a rain-soaked Tuesday night. You reach for the BREE... I grab the WENZ-lee DAYL. My romantic prospects... are look-in' in-cred-ib-ly frail. [Pre-Chorus] I’m watchin' you glide... through the snack-food aisle... It’s been years since I’ve seen... that kind of style. [Chorus] I shamble 'cross the scuffed LIE-noh floors... Headin' through the automatic sliding doors. I’m stuck in a life... that's Reduced to Clear... While you’re the vintage harvest... of a golden year. It’s a supermarket soul... in a plastic bag. A technicolor dream... with a price-cut tag. Waitin' for a clean-up... in aisle four. That spilled milk... that I ignored. [Bridge] [The guitar thins out to a slow, resonant pluck.] The sliding doors trap me... by the shoulder blades. The sensors are broken... I’m losin' my shades. I’m clutching my beer... like a holy prize. Squinting my... "Reduced to Clear" eyes. The car park's a wasteland of asphalt and grit, Where the sodium lamps flicker... and the moths try to hit. And for a second there... under the twenty-four hour sign... [Long Pause] I thought I was cryin'. [Final Chorus / Reveal] [The steady acoustic strumming returns.] And there you are... leanin' on a rail. The girl from the mushrooms and the WENZ-lee DAYL. You haven’t vanished... you haven’t gone. You’re checkin' your receipt... with your sunglasses on. You look at my bag. You look at my face. In this grey... exhausted... transit place. And you hold up your STOLI, you hold up your hand... And suddenly... I’m not that spill I imagined. You’re waitin' for me... in the London grit. And for once in my life... the bar-code fit. [Spoken Word] "Check-list..." "Shop pin' done..." "No more spills..." "I think I’ve got some CLUB-card points..." [Pause] "Ack-shually..." "I think I’ve got ev-ry-fin' I need..." "And more." [End]

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