Lola
“Can I help you?”I said cheerily.
The old man turned to me. His hair was a little long and scraggly, his beard untrimmed. I could see his fingers were dirty. But he didn’t look homeless—not exactly. His clothes weren’t tarnished enough.
He turned and looked at me for a moment, and a lonely, sad pair of blue eyes watched me from his deep-set face.
“Can I help you?” I said again. I’d bumped into the old guy as I was leaving The Blue Orchid.
“My son used to work here,” he said, a little sadly, as he turned and looked at the building.
I shook my head, and went on home. Maybe he was just crazy.
It had been two weeks now since The Blue Orchid had been closed. And we still weren’t attracting nearly as many customers as we had before despite our best efforts. But that was only the leas
