My Fat Arm by Aizlyn B

Prose

My fat arm got stuck in a park bench in the supermarket. The park bench was, of course, not in a park, so maybe it couldn't really be called a park bench. But it was the same kind of bench that one would find in a park. Say you're walking around the cement walk track to get some of that exercise that you feel you should be getting because you eat too much ice cream and too many hot dogs and you drive everywhere in your air-conditioned car. You see this bench and decide to sit down on it. That kind of park bench is the same kind that was in this supermarket.