She had worked the register at the small local drugstore for 35 years. We used to buy our greeting cards there for every occasion. Mrs. Pat knew all of us kids and she even got to know those special days.
"Isn't your sisters birthday coming? Maybe your paper route money would go better on a card for her than a comic book?" She would smile.
"I hate my sister," I'd say, but somehow Mrs. Pat had a way with her eyes, and back to the shelf went The Amazing Spiderman and I'd soon be studying a selection of cards.
"I love our cards, she'd smile. You will always remember your special times and think of our little store, for years to come." She was an important person to us all, she mattered, and those cards meant more because of her. One night a group of teens killed her and the pharmacist. They ripped apart the store even the cards. No more neighborhood stores no more neighborhoods.