Northfield is different than I remember. I’d figured that such a small place wouldn’t change much in ten years, but I’m wrong. Two of the bars the old man used to frequent are gone, turned into little shops that sell crafts and such. I walk into to the first one, remembering the last time I was in here. It was Ole’s tap back then.  The old man was so drunk I had to carry him out. I was fifteen.

It smells like nutmeg and cinnamon instead of piss and beer and cigarettes. I buy a hat for ma. A surprise.


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