The Walmarts front entrance was like a shrine of death, thought Mies looking through the binoculars. Like moths to a flame people would come seeking fortune and oh so few would come out again. Why the dead would not disperse out of the temple of consumerism Mies pondered. The aisle must get them turning around and around. "How fitting" said Mies putting down his binoculars and opening his bag to take stock, a now daily ritual. 1 binocular, 1 mp3 player (full battery, but fill of trashy boy band music), 1 harmonica, a small bag of condiment packs, 1 magnet, a Pencil and Pen, a knife sharpener, multi-tool (leatherman), 1 Long handled Machete, 1 pump action shotgun (8 buckshot shells), a police standard pistol (1 clip with 15 rounds).

Putting every thing in its place Mies stood up, pistol at his side, and claimed down the side of the green trimmed house he had sat upon and walked slowly towards the Walmart thinking: 'Death, fortune, or food. How fitting of me now.'