He had travelled through life straight and true, and rarely varied from the main path; the one where all good and decent people tred. And he could never remember having the least bit of doubt as to whether he had made the right choice all those many years ago, when he had forsaken the opportunity to pursue his career in the city, and had decided, instead, to work quietly with his father, in the family business, until one day when it would be his. But now, as he looked out through the holly wreath, and into the winter’s scene that unfolded beyond, he felt a type of sadness. And it wasn’t just sadness brought on by the fact this was his last Christmas season on Main Street; it was something that ran deeper than that.
He had poured his life into this little business and into life on this street, but now it was gone, and soon he would be gone. And what did it matter? Or what had it mattered? He was one of the last of the family-owned businesses left on the street, and there would be no others. He hadn’t even been able to find a buyer for his store, so he was just going to close the doors the day before Christmas, and that would be that. He would sell the inventory to an auction house, and the business his father had started all those years ago would start a rather brief, and abrupt, slide into the oblivion of the past, to be remembered only by old men over games of checkers at the seniors’ centre.
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