Broken Sync

Remembering the little dusty old plumbing supplies store nearby, I enter but the place seems empty. I don’t ever see customers in here.

There used to be a mature Indian woman around; the landlady. I would wave to every morning and evening on my way to and from work. She would smile and wave back. I haven’t seen her in more than five years.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Through the draped doorway to the back room I see movement. The curtain shifts slightly and a greyer version of the head I remember looks out.

“Oh! Hello handsome!”


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