Then Tomorrow (flash fiction)
Turning the key felt as a lock slamming in a vault. But, as Adam stared through the large window, nothing was left to steal. Beyond the for sale sign: emptiness. Something never imagined when he took over the store from Dad, who inherited it from Gramps. Then worried over when cavernous stores outside of downtown changed the landscape. Fewer shopping baskets plopped next to his cash register. Then the Web, and people filled virtual shopping carts.
Adam shook his head for the millionth time and asked, “What now?”
“Dinner,” Carla said, giving him a small smile. “Then sleep. Then tomorrow.”