Despite what he'd said the day he went for the fishing poles, George has returned to the general store several times. It's not the discount. Everything is ridiculously expensive, always, and he's not sure he'll ever get over it. It doesn't take a math whiz to realize that a dollar also doesn't stretch near as far as it used to, even accounting for all the inflation. It's the everything else, the way it still feels like a proper store should feel, the way the cashier he clashed with that day has let bygones be bygones, the way the stock changes with the season beginning to pass.

He leaves with his satchel slung over his shoulder and goods inside, mostly fruit, a carton of Morton, good old Morton, and a sock darner. On his way down the sidewalk he spots him, a fellow he has seen in and around ADI, usually in a hurry and minding his own business. The cane is new. It makes him think of Jaeger and get to wondering what he missed.

"Hey," he says as he approaches and touches his hat brim. "Pretty sure I seen you around. You headin' to the store? I don't mind giving an extra hand."