AT TARGET 
Adrian Korpel 

 When I enter the coffee shop at Target, a chorus line of fat, happy bagels and sinuous pretzels welcomes me. I choose a bagel studded with sesame seeds like a diamond-encrusted ring, order a double cappuccino, sit down, and look up at the commercial spectacle above me.

 From the store’s ceiling, gridded with fluorescent lights, posters hang down like banners for the Good Life, the Life you have a Right to, the life guaranteed by Mastercard. The poster closest to me shows a deeply contented pharmacist, smiling broadly while holding up a bottle of cough syrup. Close by hangs a paper housewife in a pink, subtly swelling tee shirt, also smiling and carrying a half-gallon milk bottle in each hand. She is using them as semaphore signs to signal the pharmacist, her paramour. They spell out my love, my love, my adorable apothecary, drop your white coat and run to me, drugged by desire. 

 But she is not the only one yearning for the apothecary. Another woman, much farther away than the tee-shirted signer, is running toward him along the ceiling. She is a lawyer in full stride, arms swinging. Her gray business dress is Simple yet Elegant, Sober yet Attractive, Prim yet Alluring. She knows that Great Design Doesn’t Have To Cost A Lot, as she tells me in three-inch bold letters beneath her feet. Will she reach the pharmacist in time before the semaphore siren has lured him to her grotto? It’s problematic, there are choices involved, arrows that point to other caves in the store: Jewelry, Cosmetics, Health, Beauty, Lingerie, Men, Women, Maternity. 

 I sip my coffee, bite into my bagel, and watch the drama unfold high above me in the cork-tiled heavens. There is nobody else around, there is only me and the ineffable universe of banners and bagels, pretzels and coffee, the sufficient metaphysics of my desire.

HANSEL AND GRETEL

Adrian Korpel
Digital art: Bob Grigsby


Hansel had wanted a magic wand for Christmas and Gretel a laser gun, but what their parents gave them was a dump truck for Hansel and two Barbie dolls for Gretel. So they decided to run away. 
 Running away was easy enough. They lived at the edge of a forest, and the only thing they had to do was to pack up and go. But Hans was worried they would never find their way back, and he suggested scattering breadcrumbs along their path.
 "Why would you ever want to come back?" Gretel said. "There is nothing for us here. And why bread crumbs? The birds would eat them all. Use your brains, boy! I think we should just go." 
 And so it was decided. They walked all day through the forest. When they were hungry they ate hickory nuts which Gretel cracked open with her Swiss Army knife, and to quench their thirst they drank from the creek that ran beside their path. And even though they had left their parents, they were very happy all day. 
 But night was a different matter. Gradually the sky darkened above the tall trees, and the forest filled with black hollows. Owls started to hoot, and they heard the rustle of small animals in the dead leaves. Hansel got very frightened and began to weep bitterly. But Gretel cheered him up saying, "Wait a little, Hansel, until the moon comes up. Then we'll be able to see again. Buck up, little camper!" 
 Hansel stopped crying, but said he was tired, so Gretel made him sit down, while they waited for the moon to rise. When it was light enough to see again, they continued their journey, and after a while they came to a clearing in the forest. In the middle of the clearing stood a small cottage It had a red, tiled roof and aluminum siding that gleamed silvery in the pale moonlight. Black shutters flanked the windows, and a green door was set between them. 
 The children went up to the door and Gretel knocked on it three times. From inside the house they heard a gravelly voice saying, "The door is open," and when they went in, they saw an old witch with a big wooden spoon in one hand and a butterfly net in the other, ready to pounce on them. 
 Hansel started to cry again, but Gretel said to the witch, "Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, did you really think this through?" 
 When the old crone hesitated, Gretel whipped out her pocket knife and stabbed her in the leg. The witch cried out, "You little ...," shrank down to doll size and expired. 
 Gretel said, "Hansel, the old witch is dead. See if you can find the kitchen. We need a large skillet, extra virgin olive oil, four eggs, mushrooms, and a medium sized onion."
Breakfast had never tasted so good, although Gretel had never cooked a witch omelet before.