Classic Rock One Shots

Mary Travers I "Locket's Market" {Meet-Cute}

Muse: Belarusian Soviet Gymnast Olga Korbut
Musician: American Singer/ Songwriter and Member of Peter, Paul, & Mary, Mary Travers
Time: Early to Mid Sixties

The hot concrete prickled Anne's bare feet as she idled towards the indoor market a little ways away from her trailer home. Her curious green eyes wandered from hanging sign to hanging sign. A yellow one reading 'Jerry Q's Barbecue' in bulky blue letters caught her attention, but she knew she didn't have the money to spare on a rack of ribs.

The striking blue of the Kentucky state flag signaled to the girl that she was nearing her destination: J.P. Locket's Louisville Market. The owner, Mr. Locket, wasn't too keen on Anne or her family, and he wasn't afraid to make it known. She and her folks hail from the outskirts of Louisville, dwelling in a roadside trailer park with about 30 residents total. Many locals regarded it as an eyesore, some even going so far as to protest for its removal. Locket, of course, was in favor of this idea.

Despite the marketeer's undesirable opinion of the girl and her maw and pa, his market was the closest to their residence and the only one they could even come close to being able to afford.

So, Locket took this issue into his own hands— overcharging Anne and her kin whenever they'd shop with him. Irrespective of this, they continued to patronize his shop, having no other option.

The chirp of that annoying little bronze bell announced her arrival as Anne's calloused feet meet the cool, polished cement flooring of the building. Mr. Locket looked over with a cheesy customer-service smile that immediately faltered upon realizing who'd entered his establishment.

He released his hands from their folded position as a scowl carved into his hardened features. He hastily began bagging some pretty redheaded woman's groceries while his doe eyes shifted to Anne every second or so, as if to make sure she wasn't touching anything.

As the woman made her was to the exit, shopping bags in hand, Locket began his usual rampage.

"Little barefooted Annie," he spat, clumsily maneuvering his stalwart frame from behind the checkout counter. "How many times must I tell you and your sorry folks not to come 'round here again?" The man exclaimed with an exhausted expression.

Anne tugged nervously on her pecan pigtails, wincing slightly when the fine hair got caught in one of the tears on her bitten fingernails. Her left foot worried at the glossy floor; chapped lips parting to speak.

"I understand 'at you don't like us, Mr. Locket, but we need to eat." The girl said briefly, avoiding eye contact with the domineering fellow.

His newly polished black brogue oxfords clacked against the floor, stopping right in front of her minuscule figure. Anne noted the ironed creases in his tan dress slacks, and the oh-so-coveted green and red of his Esquire socks that she knew were all the rage in his youth— which wasn't so far behind him.