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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Checkout Lane”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
In aisle three, I decide not to buy the smaller version of a thing I cannot name. The woman ahead counts coins into the cashier's open hand. The scanner keeps its green note. Beep. Beep. Beep. Outside, automatic doors part for a trolley with no one behind it. My receipt is longer than the purchase. At the exit, I fold it once, then once again, until it fits inside the pocket where I used to keep your messages.
Lyrics
(beep) Aisle three has washing powder. Orange labels under white light. I am holding bread and batteries. Trying to make a normal night. Then your red coat clears the freezer. You are laughing at a price. I turn my basket toward the gum rack. Like that could make me twice as wise. The scanner sees each thing I bring. It cannot scan what I cannot say. The woman asks me, cash or card. My hands forget the day. (beep) Do not look back in aisle three. Keep your hands where they can see. Do not look back in aisle three. Let the doors slide you free. Your trolley turns the corner slow. You see me by the magazine. For half a second, both of us. Become the people we had been. You ask me how my mother is. I say she is doing fine. The receipt starts curling in my fist. Like a little white alarm. (clap-clap) The door slides open. The cold air comes. (beep-beep) I do not need a perfect ending. I just need to leave this one. Do not look back in aisle three. Keep your hands where they can see. Do not look back in aisle three. Let the doors slide you free. I paid. I left.
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