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.
Sounds like the old man didn’t make it, but I’m glad Ma did.
Great story… sometimes going home can be a shocking experience.
I remember we bought our first Madeira Hats in a bar… I hope it’s still a bar selling hats on the side.
Hope his homecoming is as warm as the cap 🙂
Replacing old businesses—and memories—with better ones! Nice story.
Aw. Wonderful ending for a sad story.
This is simply written in everyday language which makes for a great little yarn. Excellent.
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