By the end of the week you—my precious Murder Kroger—will no longer exist. We first met when I was fifteen. It was my first time venturing to Atlanta without parental supervision, and I was seeing Relient K at the Masquerade. It was Christmas. While freezing in line waiting to go into the concert I caught my first glimpse of you. I thought, could this warm light begging me to come closer be heaven?
I slipped out of line and started walking towards your pearly gates beckoning me to come inside. I sought refuge from the bitter cold in your warm bosom conveniently open 24 hours a day. I knew at that moment that I would always have a special place for you in my heart. While I recognize that my love for you runs deeper than most, I know I am not alone in my appreciation.
In 2014 during the winter storm aptly named Snowpocalypse, the city of Atlanta flocked to your shelves for bread and water. You provided greatly, as you always do. Murder Kroger, your bounty knew no bounds.
For every college student who needed to buy cheap mixers before hitting up Green’s for liquor, you were there. For the metal heads who needed a Monster energy drink to keep their stamina going during Wrecking Ball, you were there. And even for the jogger who forgot to use the restroom before running on the BeltLine, in their most desperate time of need you were there.
The bigwigs of Atlanta tried to change you. They called you unspeakable names like, “BeltLine Kroger” but those who loved you most knew that wasn’t who you truly were. As the neighborhood around you changed I held out for hope that they would leave you alone. After all, you’re perfect just the way you are, but apparently nothing is sacred anymore.
I’m sure you’re scared. I would be too. But as they say, “do not go gentle into that good night” my friend. Murder Kroger, you have provided in abundance to those who have entered your hallowed aisles, and for that you should be proud. Let them build apartments on your soil. Let them tear you down brick by brick. Go out with dignity my dear, for you are one of the truest friends Atlanta has ever known.
As you enter eternity, may your shelves always be stocked, may your parking lot always have half eaten chicken wings, and may your Lunchables always remain 10 for $10. I’ll meet you on the other side, Kroger plus card in hand.