Ten-Cent Treasures

The old man supported himself with the aid of a cane. His skin and long flowing hair were white. His presence surprised Steven. Without warning, the old man was within inches of Steven’s face. “I didn’t mean to frighten you son. I really do need to get better lighting in here. Name’s Samuel Taylor. Call me Sam.” He leaned on the cane and held out an arthritic, boney hand.

Steven regained his composure and gently shook the old man’s hand. “No, I’m okay. That’s fine. You surprised me. I was just saying that several years ago this location…”

Again he was stopped in mid-sentence. “I know all about that, son. I’ll bet you can still smell the grease in the air, no?” The man showed false teeth.

“I beg your pardon?” Steven unconsciously took a step back.

“Don’t mind the ramblings of an old man. This is a magic shop. Remember? Come, follow me, I want to show you something.”

Steven was speechless. Robotically, he followed Taylor toward the rear of the shop, the same spot where the grill which his grandfather and father had spent so much of their working lives, the grill that was never able to provide a living for him. The grill, along with everything else, that was sold by his mother.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)