Kathyrn

I was idling at a red light, enjoying the relatively cool evening air, when Kathyrn and some dogs I didn't recognize crossed in front of me.

Damn, I haven't seen her for at least six years - she still looks great; I swear she looks younger, but that doesn't surprise me. She always seemed happy and healthy, even when times were tough.

That's when we met- during tough times. Kathyrn owned a small novelty shop next to the comic bookstore that I managed from 1990-97.
It was in a not-good part of town, but near enough to campus to get college business and rent was cheap enough to make the location seem plausible for retail...
Her store was called 'World of Mirth' and sold everything from boxing nun puppets to exploding gum.
Need some fake vomit? Check!
A glossy hardcover coffeetable book of WWII pin-up gals? Roger that!
Little capsules that turn into dinosaurs when you drop them in water? Yep!
How about a wind-up mechanical rat? Got it!

We weren't really friends outside of our shops, but we did share a certain shopkeeper camraderie - we both ran stores on a block that was pretty bad- the local college had been (still is) waiting for all businesses on it to close so it can purchase the land (almost there, you bastards!), so the area was left to rot and was known for it's beggars, robbers and transvestite hookers. Sometimes we'd grab a drink the corner bar and "talk shop".
Usually we'd drink tequila and talk about what a shitty location our stores were in.

She moved her store to a better street after a year or so, but I digress...back to this evening...

Anyway, I smiled at her and waved through the windshield- I was certain she'd say 'hello' at least, but she just smiled, shrugged and held up a tangle of leashes.

My hands are full of dogs, she seemed to say.

Oh well. She sure does look good.
I know that she's my age, but she looks ten years younger.
Time has been very kind to Kathyrn, I thought.

The light turned green and I drove about a mile before I remembered that Kathyrn, her husband and their three children had been murdered at the very beginning of the year.

Time is a son-of-a bitch, I thought.