There was no business today, either, even though it wasn't rainy, just very, very cloudy. Well, there were two people at The Store today. One of them is Father's best friend, who still is a good sport and hangs out there from time to time (I've seen him once before after Father announced they're closing The Store). The other was someone who was sent by Mother to get some stuff. Weird.
Father had to do some work in the basement in the back. But he was done, so he turned off all the lights in the back. All of them. I hate that. It's spooky. That's a sign in my face that The Store is closing.
I do my usual thing at The Store: Listen to my satellite radio and catch up on the really old newspapers and magazines I've kept for years. Father, now not having anything to do, just sits in his stool in the middle of The Store, where the cash register is. He makes a couple calls, fields a couple calls, but otherwise paces and sits, paces and sits. The epitome of boredom. That too creeps me out. Partly because it's a reflection of how his time could be better served that tending to a business no one goes to, but mostly because it's normally a time where he would ask out of the blue what my future is.
From his stoop Father shouted to me. He reminded me that of something he asked me to do over the weekend: Change the address of correspondence from his real estate properties in Las Vegas and here -- "because we will close soon, and we need this to come home." Now, he's not saying that I don't already know, let alone what he's already told me. But ... just ... just don't tell me, OK? I'm still very, very sad and anxious over the death of The Store, which I thought was going to happen early this month and, therefore, I think will happen suddenly any time now.
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