The wheels of the shopping carts on the tiled floor make a rhythmic sound.
Their scanning of products, the bleeping that it makes mixes with it.
They all move in an almost robotic way, picking up a product, swinging it in front of the scanning device and releasing it on the other side.
Staring in front of them, if you’d look inside you might not find anything.
They are in a state of trance, like tribal people dancing on the beat of drums and coming closer to God.
The only thing ruining this orchestra of rhythm is the ambient sound created by all the complaining shoppers waiting in lines.
At least they have each other.
Their scanning of products, the bleeping that it makes mixes with it.
They all move in an almost robotic way, picking up a product, swinging it in front of the scanning device and releasing it on the other side.
Staring in front of them, if you’d look inside you might not find anything.
They are in a state of trance, like tribal people dancing on the beat of drums and coming closer to God.
The only thing ruining this orchestra of rhythm is the ambient sound created by all the complaining shoppers waiting in lines.
At least they have each other.
