It sounds so final. Closing down sale! The goods are no longer of any use, the register is no longer cashed up, the shelves no longer bare the burden of better times, the customers have found new fields within the sprawling mall of commerce. In a last ditch effort to reap some fodder from the dry stalks, we open the doors to a final rush. Tomorrow is no more, is the cry from the crowd. This is our last chance to lay claim to unwanted produce. But why? Yesterday it was worthless and tomorrow it will be discarded, yet the tenacity of the purchaser is to fight for every last thread of whatever waits in stock. The crowd will strip the carcass bare and lay the bones out for the creditors.
Is all this a metaphor for a life? Who will pick us dry when the time comes to close the doors? And who will be our creditors? What will there to show for a life well spent in the pursuit of satisfaction gained and lost, purchased and discarded, bought and sold? And will the mourners come at the last minute to salvage what they can in an undignified rush of sensual spending, only to discard the corpse and move to the next sale?
Keep your eye on the sign. I'm closing down.