The streetlamps were just beginning to flicker on, flooding the outside with their orange sodium glow. Pepper was still in the store, tinkling at the piano, while I counted down the register. Trixie was curled up at Pepper’s feet and snoring softly.
“Why are you playing now?” I said. “There’s no customers.”
“Ash. You were here. You’re counting the register. How many people did you think there were?”
“Not many,” I said, laying out the bills so that the presidents’ heads were all facing the same way.
“Ergo, poetry night. Give people a reason.”
“You sound like Dave.” I took the number from my head and punched it into the calculator app on my phone.
Pepper laughed and began playing a catchy little melody. “Here’s one for you.
Ashley, my dear, you took me in,
from the cold and from the
