The air stole breath from your lungs and swirled cool and unbroken about in your mouth forcing and forming involuntary vowel sounds in the warm hollow I was just trying to buy new razor heads for god’s sake not looking to be inflated like a balloon. Yet I was, set to float away like an abandoned thought one moulded beneath a shower head or after a couple pints or those rehearsed during the darkest points of night or silly ones you type or silly ones you type and erase your thumbs flying fleetingly away as you drift softly to sleep. You enter briskly storming straight over to the aisle you know so well, you know which heads you want but like a hydra they stare back at you cunningly, so you stand stumped. 3 blades or 5? 5 are far too expensive. Whilst the pink 3 blades deceptively state sensitive, but you know they will scratch at your skin their small pink heads provide some unsettlingly stereotyped comfort and whilst you will be left with smooth legs for a glistening single day your legs will sting for several and a sub-surface grief will sit festering for many days after this. Yet, you buy them. Your 10% student discount leaves you undeservedly smug, The purchase redeemed in your eyes.