“Light Shop – 2024 –” read the sign above the door, the dash not a hyphen but a crack in the wood, a scar that had learned to glow. Nobody remembered when the shop had appeared. One morning, the corner of Mulberry and Seventh simply held it, like a thought that had always been there, waiting to be noticed.
Henry laughed. It was a rusty sound, a gate swinging open after a long winter. “What’s the price?” Light Shop -2024-