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missing. He reached out with his left to shake instead. He noticed a small tattoo on Tuesday’s wrist. It was a small black arrow but he didn’t feel it appropriate to ask about it.
    Seeing his glance Tuesday smiled again, all hard angles, and told him. "I lost it to a grenade in Vietnam. Sometimes the wolf gets you no matter what you do. I was lucky in a way. They saved the rest of the arm. I gave up on prosthetics though, as I find them highly uncomfortable.”
    Uncomfortable was exactly what this conversation was making Tommy, so he attempted to change the subject. “I’m curious about the name of your store. Isn’t it a little morbid for a grocery store?”
    Immediately after asking his question he wondered if he shouldn ’t have taken a different direction. He wasn’t sure if the answer to this question would be any better than hearing about severed limbs.
    Chuckling Tuesday replied, “It was a simple mix up by the sign maker. I originally intended for it to be “Tuesday Mornings”, but when it arrived the imbecile had misspelled it entirely. I found it amusing, however, and decided to keep it as is. It makes us unforgettable, don’t you think? Can I interest you in some breakfast and a cup of coffee?”
    Tommy realized that despite being hungry when he got there, something about this man unnerved him, killing his appetite. It was as if he cast a shadow, invisible to the human eye that seemed to flood the store. Despite the harsh fluorescent lights and the morning sun the store seemed dim and unsettling. He restrained a shudder and convinced himself that it was all in his head.
    “I’d like a cup of coffee very much”, Tommy replied, “and food sounds good.”
    “ One plate of hot, southern breakfast food coming up”, Tuesday said. “If you’d like to do your shopping while you wait, your food will be done shortly.”
    Tommy could hear the dismissal in his voice so he just nodded his head and went to shop. No matter how hard he tried though he couldn ’t shake his uneasiness and he was relieved that when they called his name Tuesday wasn’t there. His plate was piled with grits, eggs, bacon, and biscuits with gravy. The food was served by a teenage boy with dirty blonde hair and acne.
    "On the house ”, he said as he handed it over with a steaming mug of coffee. Thanking him he took the food wondering how he would stomach it all. It helped that the food was delicious.
    He shivered as he stepped outside despite the morning heat. He loaded his groceries into his sedan and then started the vehicle. He didn ’t put it in drive right away though. He sat quietly staring ahead searching for something.
    "Predatory, that’s the word that I'm looking for."
    He had met a few men in his life that deserved that adjective. Tuesday made them seem like choir boys. Finally he put the car in drive and left with only an occasional glance back in the mirror.
    The drive back was uneventful except for one thing. Shortly after leaving town he saw a small mobile home on his right. He had almost passed it when he noticed the owner sitting out front, drinking a beer, and waving at traffic. It was a odd wave though. He would raise his index finger, wave it in a circle, and then point to each driver as they drove by. Judging from the excessive amount of purple and gold flags, and paraphernalia, he was also an avid LSU fan. A quick glance showed him to be in his early fifties, slightly graying hair, moustache, with an ample beer belly.
    “ What an odd place I’ve found”, he thought as drove on home.
    When he arrived home he puttered around the kitchen, casually deciding where to put everything. It struck him how new this place was. New at least in the sense that he had no memories here. His cologne hadn ’t soaked into the bathroom cabinet yet. His wife’s laughter didn’t still resonate from the wood paneling.
    Sadness welled up in his throat, but it was a sadness tinged with a small measure of hope. Any new house