Late afternoon sun poked through smudged windows, across empty display cases, and onto vacant black enamel shelves. It was all gone now, either sold on clearance or packed into the back of his Honda. The numbers never really worked. He could make coins appear out of thin air, but not clients, not profits. In the peak times, people showed up with his thin mimeographed catalog, pages dog-eared and eyes wide-open. Then, Amazon. He put his hand on the doorknob. He pushed a cigarette into his ear, then pulled it out of his nose. He lit it, took a big draw, and flicked it onto the pile of gasoline-soaked rags in the corner.