Built in 1920, I used the money I’d made from the Bedlight to remodel the store a few years ago. One side of the store is a grocery area. The other side is a small coffee and doughnut shop. On a daily basis, I converse and listen to the same individuals. The same old men have told the same stories for years.
I’ve witnessed them all. The stories are what get me through this shithole, year after year. Shady Ray, one of the regular customers, built the building, or so he says. He’s frequented the store every morning ever since my parents owned it. The day wouldn’t be the same if he didn’t drop by for a bagel and coffee.
The morning is unseasonably cool. Ray complains about his aching bones because of the arthritis.
“How are you, Ray?” a friend asks.
“I hurt. Cool day for June.”
Ray pride
