The Little Wig Factory


I buried my brother on Black Friday.

People had stood in line for ungodly hours to take advantage of amazing discounts. What was the death of an old man to them? Nothing more than the unknown name listed in the obituary section of the newspaper they had brought to peruse while waiting for the store doors to open.

I didn’t resent the shoppers, though. Just the irony I found in the contrast of their apparent frenzy against my mournful state of mind. Deep inside, I rejoiced in the knowledge that some of those shoppers would be surprised next Halloween.

Yes, Halloween when they came back to our little wig factory would be their big shock. “Where’s Lenny?” They would indubitably ask.

Customers favored buying from Lenny, of course. I was regarded as the mean bastard who wouldn’t give them a discount.

They’d turn and plea to my white bearded sibling. “I loved it but I just can’t afford it.” Old benevolent Lenny, resembling Santa Claus would look at them and practically give the stuff away.





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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. :)