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**This short story was originally published on my Substack. If you enjoy experimental flash fiction, consider subscribing for free.

At Fred’s kiosk, he sells French fries, Hamburger, crab sticks, and Fuji - Earth’s Best Water. Everyday from 8a.m to 5p.m, he stands or sits at that kiosk, frying the fries, the burgers, and crab sticks, and the water to hungry customers of the Megamall. 30 years here, and the profit was good enough for him to afford the monthly cables fee and a small TV he kept under the stall. “Fred. Greeting! Pal, buddy, can I have some of dem crab sticks?” said Joppo Venus. He’s probably on his Fourth Cycle of the Mall today, given the full bags his servants are carrying. It was fifteen-minute until closing time, and he already has everything packed up. The man’s a rich prick, Fred thought, but he pays better than a lot of the folks here, so to him Joppo’s a God. A prick God, but a God nonetheless. “Coming right up, Sir.” His crab sticks are selling well lately. Last week, anticipating FDA’s ban of crab consumption due to cruelty, he changed his advertisement from “made from real crab” to “imitation crab, no crabs were harmed in the making of this product.” In fact, his kiosk even made it to the MegaMallMag with the headline: “A Prediction 30 Years In The Making,” in which Fred shared how he has always felt it was wrong to boil not just crabs, but all crustaceans. “That will be Three socks from Ms. Venus, Sir.” Fred said. “Three? Absurdity! ‘Tis was 1 just last week.” Joppo bargained. This slimy bastard is, coincidentally, Hela Venus - the popstar, not the politician - ‘s husband, and so he basically had monopoly of her socks. And yet he tried to haggle. “I’m sorry, Sir, but the FDA’s ruling has really put demands for imitation crab through the roof. Yesterday I had to pay a hand for the meats!” “What they need your hand for?” “I don’t know, Sir. I’m just glad my grill is bionic-hand-compatible.” Fred waves his left hand at God, then proceeds to pull a USB chord out of his pinky and plugs it into the grill. “I tell you what. We’re good pals and all, aren’t we Freddy boy?” “We sure are, Sir.” “A deal! I will give you two socks. But, hear me out. One of them has a stain. I’ve been asking the chef to make pasta with tomato sauce lately, and boy oh boy am I not the richest I’ve ever been!” Joppo produced his wallet and took out two socks, one still damps from sweat, Hela’s sweat, and one with a spec of red at the toes. Fred almost shed a tear. “Thank you, Sir.” With this, Fred thought, he could afford padding for his chair. He’s not as young as he used to, and the paddings will hopefully improve his back pain. It was 4:59p.m, and Fred looked on as Joppo walks away with his servants, heading to his home on the next floor. Four Cycles… Fred wishes he will reach that point in life one day, but between work and the TV and sleep, he hardly has time - nor money - for one. Joppo has made him thirty minutes late, and Fred has to start planning the route to his Cycle if he wants to make it back for the 7:00p.m show. First, The Body Store - not to be mistaken for The Body Boutique, which is next to it, or The Body StoreZ, which is on the other side of it and sells bionic body parts - for sunscreen, because the government said the lights at MegaMall produces UV-Rays. Then, he heard Feet Cupboard was selling the new Noli running shoes, then Juiz for their new energy drink, then Wear for their This Season Collection… and last but not least, HardandSoft for the paddings. All in all, it should take him about an hour to get back to his kiosk if he grabs the essential and doesn’t dawdle too much at Wear. At 6:30, Fred returned to his kiosk. He put down the bags of wares, and took his suitcase out to get his clothes. After a shower at the communal bathroom behind his kiosk, he feels refreshed and delighted: he got back one Hela sock for the stained sock, and the owner of HardandSoft also threw in a broken leg of the chair President Mega used to sit on. That night, after the show, Fred sleeps soundly, and happily, at his kiosk.