A sprightly girl hops onto the elevator’s floor, followed by a friendly faced man wearing a white and red stripped vest. The child stares, eyes wide and mouth open, at the assortment of lollipops protruding from the slender man’s shirt pocket. As the polished steel doors begin to close, a hand slides in between, allowing a messy haired businessman in a fancy black suit and tie inside. She presses the main level button for all three of them.


“Hello young lady, would you care for a treat?” the candy man asks after catching the innocent girl intently gazing.

The girl tucks in her lips, squints her eyes, and leans forward. “Are you the owner of Dylan’s Candy Bar on Third Avenue?” she asks.

“Yes, I am little missy. My name’s Mr. Butters. Now you’d better do me a favor and take this here cherry lollipop off of my hands,” the older gentleman says smiling while removing a sweet from his pocket.

“Why did you close your store? I used to visit every Sunday and buy a box of gummy worms,” the girl asks, taking the brightly wrapped goody from Mr. Butters. “And my name is April,” she says popping the cherry delight inside her mouth.

The businessman who had entered rather shaken removes a Motorola earpiece and peers at the elevator’s burgundy carpeting. The girl notices he looks rather sad, almost as sad as she is about the thought of no candy on Sundays.

“Well April, to be honest, it was this poor economy that shut down my store. That and people who should have been responsible let down a lot of good American folks,” Mr. Butters says with a furrowed brow.

The flustered man dressed in black rubs his head and casts a side-glance at April.

“But who did this to you Mr. Butters? Who would shut down a candy store?” the little girl asks curiously, twirling the lollipop on her tongue.

“It was me, Mr. Johnson, that caused Mr. Butters store to close dear, and I’m sorry,” the unsettled man says with a slight waver in his voice. “I used to be the CEO of the company that lent Dylan’s Candy Bar the money to expand their chocolate department,” he says.

The girl walks over to the portly, previously employed CEO and sees a tear forming in the corner of his eye. “Mr. Butters,” she says, “can Mr. Johnson have a lollipop too?”