A cool, earthy breeze ruffled the cell's banners,

strolling around the front of the shop, and the chill swept along my arms.

The street outside was as empty as it was inside, dry leaves blowing across the sidewalk, bells

of a shop chiming from somewhere, further down the road.

Wanna take her early break?

Chris, my coworker, said from behind the counter.

He was flipping absently through a magazine, his nose wrinkling beneath the fabric of his

mask.

It doesn't look like anyone wants to buy candles today, or any day, I muttered, moving

to lock the front door.

Since the pandemic hit, the shop had seen cell's plummet.

The place was empty most days, and Chris and I ended up standing around doing nothing.

Besides a few customers, one old lady has frequented our shop every day for the last few weeks,

smelling the same set of candles, still, unable to make a decision.

Even with those pandemic relief funds, he would think she'd buy the entire collection.

But still, she remains undecided, and just said that she would make a decision next time.

Not sure what the deal is with her, but we concluded that the old lady must have some

form of short memory loss because she does the exact same thing every time she comes.

She didn't mind it too much, since it at least gave us something to do.

But it was a hindrance because we would have to go through our usual, sanitation procedure,

of sprang down the door, wiping the candles down, and airing out the shop to ensure things

were clean at their every time she came.

...