When I moved to Brooklyn six years ago, I was so happy there was a bodega on the corner. But when I went to check it out it turned my stomach. It was the dirtiest thing I have ever seen, and looked like it had three products in every aisle, so I never shopped there. Months later, as the area began to change, a funny Dominican man and his family took over. They took that store and made it shine. I began to shop there. I would also get breakfast from there every morning before work. Over the years the man and I became cool. He would call me Timito, the best remix of my name I think I've ever heard. Sometimes he'd ask me to explain to him how to say certain things in English and he would keep me on point with my Spanish. His wife gave me the number to the store. So if I was running late I could order my food from home and they could start on my breakfast, while I got ready for work.  
When hard times hit, I would only go to the store when I could scrape the money together. The owner began to notice the change in my shopping and asked me what was wrong. When I told him, he said "Timito, my son, take whatever you want and pay me back whenever you get it" 
I thanked him and eventually paid him back and threw in a bottle of Brugal to show my appreciation. Over the years we have shared the stories of both our father's illnesses and deaths and laughed about everything from wrestling to politics. If one of us was down, the other would give them a pep talk. When he wasn't there, his wife ran the store. She would always greet everyone with a smile, and like her husband she always had a great conversation for you, while you waited for your food ? They both kind of filled in that morning void left by not being able to have breakfast with my parents.  
One night he told me that he had plans to have the store open 24 hours a day.  
I told him that was a great idea, grabbed my breakfast and rushed to the train station.  
The next day I heard a loud commotion in the streets. There was a fire on the second floor of the building that the store was located. When I ran up to my roof I could see firemen pumping water into his building from a hole in the roof. The fireman on my rooftop told me that everything was Ok. When I went downstairs I saw that the corner was squared off with yellow tape, but the bodega was open and one of the workers was outside watching the fire fight. I figured everything was alright and went about my day.  
But the next morning the bodega was closed, and the next and the next. I called several times and I got the fax machine. When I finally got the owner on the phone, he told me that the water damage was so bad that they had to close.  
I told him that if he needed anything to let me know. He thanked me. 
Last night I had a dream that the store was open. I haven't checked, but I hope I'm right. I miss my morning sandwiches, but most of all I miss my Dominican parents.  
Right now I'm praying that my dream was real and that a good man and his wife can reopen and get back to living theirs.  
-TD 

These are The Last Days of Dark