The Host

I perused the aisles of an overpriced Rite Aid until I found the hardware section, specifically looking for 3M hooks with adhesive on the backs. $6.99 for a four pack? That’s ridiculous. Then I overheard a homeless man with a grey beard and black puff jacket ask a store attendant: “Where the bug spray at?” She pointed him to my aisle. And while I stared at the hooks knowing I wanted them but not enough to pay the price, the homeless man lingered by the array of insecticide, seemingly asking himself a question. My eyes moved to a set of tacks that I also imagined I needed, until I heard a loud shooting sound of liquid against cloth. The man had opened a can of RAID and let it loose on his jacket. The long stream of white bug killing fluid bounced of his clothes and on to the floor, emitting a strong odor of chemicals into the aisle. I quickly moved away. I then pictured the man laying on the street at night, itching from pests that make their way into his clothes for warmth, for crumbs, but mostly for a host to feed on.