The streets were empty and bare, not a signal soul was in sight and this bothered Max.
Here it was in the middle of the day and there should be at least hundreds of people walking, shopping or driving through.
He glanced at a sign in the window, it stated “Closed on Sundays.”

For this secret mixture I was given gurdonark. I found his poem Fried Pies and thought it would fit nicely in these interesting times.