excerpt
SAM WINTER WAITED at the counter
while one of Ralph Gritzinger’s sons
gathered the items on Liza’s list. The
boy might have been Carl. Sam could
never remember their names. The
market was self service now, but Gritzinger liked to please his customers
who preferred the old way. Once, taken by an urge to adapt
to changing times, Sam went after the groceries himself. He spent
a half hour roaming the aisles without finding a third of the things
he came for. Gritzinger discovered him fuming, came to the rescue
and had the list together in five minutes.
“Oh,” Sam said, as if it were an afterthought,” why don’t you
throw in a…”
“…a six pack of Olympia, Judge?” the young man said.
Carl. That was it. The other one, the married one, was Jim. Or
John.
“Oly would be fine, thanks…Carl.” He was pretty sure it was
Carl.
The little brass bell sounded as the door swung open. A large
man in a threadbare suit walked to the counter and stood next to
Sam. Plaid showed through a rip under the left arm of his jacket.
He had two or three days of salt and pepper stubble.
“Well. Long time,” Gritzinger said to the man.
“Yes, a long time.”
Gritzinger waited for the next sentence. There was none.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 