gray. dust and plaster litter the floor scraped off
hastily from the name are
stickers, an open/closed sign. I  can’t
remember the name and the
sign hanging perhaps above the door is gone. The shop
looks strangely tiny now, even though its chairs and tables are gone. I wonder
the last click of the lock that the ownder heard
if it was a tragic goodbye of an empty memory, or a
relieved echo off somewhere that was
too cramped
or old, or the wiring sparked and caused
blackouts. Either way, I’m glad
that shop is closed. It contains the memory of an awful date and even more
awful tea. And now that it’s gone,
so is my memory. Almost.