Gerold muttered when he wheeled up to Worden’s Hardware Store. He’d always liked the place because it reminded him of days past—days when recessions weren’t strangling the economy and changing the way people shopped. Now everything was malls, Internet shopping, and Home Depots the size of naval vessels. Whatever happened to mom-and-pop shops? Modernity, that’s what. There was no place for them these days, just as there was no place for small, family-owned hardware stores like Worden’s where the people working there actually knew what they were talking about. Hence, Gerold’s displeasure, after wheeling three blocks in the sun from the bus stop. The sign was a sign of the times: SORRY, WORDEN’S IS NO LONGER IN BUSINESS. THANK YOU FOR FIFTY YEARS OF SUPPORT. Gerold had specifically come here for something, but now he’d have to bus to Home Depot. Shit. He’d come here to buy about twenty feet of decent gauge rope so that he could hang himself. “Not today,” he mumbled and wheeled off.
