The neon sign of the little corner store flickers in the darkness.

Moth flock to the light, falling prey to dashes of electric shock. They fall in droves, grey wings littering the ground beside the entrance.

I push open the door and the bell clatters in its position atop the glass door. A jangling like a cow bell.

The air within the store is fresh, contrary to the usual roadside convenience store with its stale atmosphere and drowsy attendant. I come here too often, so I'm known quite well by the kindly cashier.

Mr. Tom Wells. Owner and operator of this small shop for quite a long time.

"Good evening, Rachel." He smiles and the wrinkles in his face creak to pull the corners of his lips up.

"Good evening, Tom." I grin. He lights the mood, always. 

I rush about the shelves, gathering things I need.

A carton of milk. Some sugar. A box of cereal. Flour. A random single banana. And a light snack.