By Lex Beyer

The lights of the concrete temple glare brightly against the dawn sky
Rows of people lined up outside, stragglers towards the back
Some are lying on the grimy street, restless from being there all night
They were lead there with promises of new TVs, 75 percent off
But like the lottery, not everyone can win
At no later than 5AM, the doors to the temple opened
And everything erupted into chaos
I was pushed in by the mob behind me
As I entered, the smells of hundreds of people penetrated my nostrils
The stampedes of people just kept coming
Knocking over shelves, ripping televisions and discounted microwaves from the walls
I duck into an aisle, to find just what I am looking for
A PS4, 50 percent off, a gift for my brother
But as I make my way to checkout, a woman comes behind
A high heel strikes my face, I am knocked over, with a retched rubber relish in my mouth
She seizes it from my fingers, never to be seen again
And that is the tragedy of Walmart on Black Friday