Flash Fiction Friday: Closed

Eighty-two years. He wasn’t more than five when his father first brought him, when he ran the aisles.

Faithful customers kept the family fed, the storefront open. His first job behind the checkout counter. Hours of sweat and merchandise to stock. Images of seasons both abundant and hard.

The old man took one last look at the store that had been in his family for generations. A life of memories melted into the ether for someone else to find.

He shut the door behind him, locked for the very last time.

 

© Laura L. Zimmerman 2016

110H

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