My Granddaughter Asked Me to Stop Sending Her Father Money and to Follow Him

Market is a small grocery store on Fifth and Chestnut. My father started it, and I took it over when he retired. It smells like bananas and deli counter and floor cleaner, the kind of place where people still pay with crumpled bills and tell you about their week while you ring up their milk. The store kept my hands busy when my mind wanted to replay continue reading …