“T’weren’t like this during the war”, Mabel quipped, setting the teabags down again. She shuffled over to the off-license, audibly rustling as she gripped her packet of Skips tighter than even her grasp on reality. A confused young man tied her dog to the shop’s security gate, having removed the leash from his bike spokes as he went to leave for home. Mabel looked around for her daughter, June. But June hadn’t come with her. June hadn’t been to see her in three years. Mabel picked up a bottle of Grenadine and went towards the counter. Trying to pay in Sterling, she was refused, and looked around for her daughter to help her. She had to release her grip on her packet of Skips, and forgetting she owned a dog, walked all the way home muttering, “Tweren’t like this during the war”.
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