GRAND OPENING by HEYTEA*

Holly Zhou

You woke up for this. Hitched a ride to the plaza two hours before the doors opened, the sun still slumbered. It’s the highlight of suburban summer. Thrumming ozone. Wrapped around the block, people are already parched and primed, snaked across the lawn, an intestine coiled thrice. Mothers compare cram schools, daughters fan themselves with homework, the clouds decant, revealing polyester visors, the statue of an apple bit in two. Years will trickle by in an hour. Birds will not sing in the distance. You want to be the kind of person who thinks ahead, who has the intuition to bring an umbrella and a chair to sit on, a change of clothes, a sandwich for lunch. You miss the Game Boy™ you never had. You touch your dried face. You’ve waited so long you’re not sure if you still want it, if it’ll be worth it, but you’re still standing, your shoulders reddening, aspiring to second degree burns, it’s too late to quit now, your throat needs something to show for this, your heart, a limited edition sip, a spritz of aldehydes and volatile acetates, heating and cooling. It’ll be worth it, no high fructose corn syrup, artificial flavors, your forehead glistening like washed grapes preserved in a freezer, your time is worth nothing, your tongue is a purgatory, the light will not leave you, you can almost glimpse the window, your image inside, it’ll be worth it, it’ll be just like they promised.

Top notes: paper menus as fans, sunscreen, gossip, Kentucky bluegrass Middle notes: lithium batteries, tan lines, coming-of-age, roasted buckwheat Base notes: tap to pay, BPA-free receipts, chia seeds, tapioca aged for 270 days, methyl salicylate

*Brand mentioned for informational purposes only. This is not a sponsored piece, but @HEYTEA, if you’re reading this, I’m available for hire. ☺