THINK OF HOME

.

.

.

The question floats through the air. Something about her eyes...

"You don't look right at all," you continue. "Why are you here?"

Maybe Dad wouldn't like being so direct, but he's not here.
Besides, they're not customers unless they buy something, right?

Okay. What the heck. Your mouth opens before you can even think.

"I'm SIXTEEN," you lie. "I can call you a loiterer if you don't buy something."

She just smiles that sweet smile,
and she bends her knee to crouch.