five minutes last an hour

free

Today is a normal day. In my normal neighborhood. With its normal people. And its normal breeze blowing in its normal trees.

On mornings like these (and by that I mean every morning), I take advantage of the daylight by taking a stroll around town and doing my errands early.

Everyday is the same, as is everything, as is everyone. But today I encounter something not so normal, something unexpected.

Upon turning a certain corner on my usual route to the supermarket, I almost bump into one of two vendors trying to sell what appear to be some sort of dessert.

"Why, good morning, young lady," the one I nearly stumbled into greets. He wears a crisp dark grey suit and shiny shoes, and face is almost flawless with no sign of aging in sight. "Care for a sample?" offers the other, who looks almost identical to the first man, except his suit is a much lighter grey. He is holding out a large baking tray with one peachy-colored ice cream cube in tiny muffin paper. "This is a new flavor we're working on, 'Hope.' Try one--" 

"--and you'll have a little bit of Hope in you!" they finish in unison.

In this heat, I'm surprised that the ice cream cube they're presenting to me is still solid, considering that they have no coolers nor portable freezer. 

Despite the decency of their appearance, there is a rather rotten aura they're both giving off. 

"What's in it?" I ask, taking the lone sample from the tray.

"Hope," they reply as if the answer couldn't have been any more obvious. 

I shrug, but take a whiff to make sure it's not poison, just in case. It isn't. What it is, however, is bite-sized, so I pop the whole thing into my mouth. It's not wise to eat something from complete strangers I'm having second thoughts about, but I'm afraid that if I turn down their offer, they might harass me until I accept. They just seem to be those kind of people, you know?

They exchange looks before turning to me with plastic smiles.

I start to chew and a shiver runs up my spine, fascinated yet confused at the same time. It tasted nothing like anything I've ever eaten, but it tasted splendid. Yet odd.

"There is a wide selection over here," says Light Grey as he gestures towards a table behind him with neatly arranged rectangular-shaped packages. Curious, I take a look.

Upon closer inspection, printed on every wrapper is only one word, which I am assuming are the flavors of each. "Bliss," reads one. "Love," reads another. There are no two wrappers with the same word, and some of the words such as "Chance" and "Wild," I thought, wouldn't sound as smooth in their motto as the others. What all these words do have in common, however, are that they are not your typical flavor names.

"You know," Dark Grey says, "no one's been interested in our product for a while now." 

Light Grey perks up. "Actually, these things on the table," he picks one package up and waves it around slightly, "they aren't the real products--just for show. We're selling the real stuff on the top floor of the supermarket. Just look for a big yellow si--"

Dark Grey nudges him in the side with his elbow to cut him off before adding, "What he means to say is the big grey sign in the farthest corner of the top floor. You won't miss it."

Gritting his teeth and rubbing his hip, Light Grey nods without looking at me.

I know right away that no matter what color the sign I'm supposed to look for is, they're both lying. The top floor of the supermarket is under construction and has been for the past few months. No way could they be selling their product there.