The bell above the door chimed, a lonely sound in the cavernous silence of Miller’s Farm Supply. Elias didn’t look up from his ledger. He knew the gait; it was young Miller, likely looking for a specialized lubricant or a part for the thresher that had been coughing gray smoke since Tuesday.
"Tell your dad to buy what he needs for the season and not a bag more," Elias said, returning to his stool. "Safety isn't just about the blast; it's about the eyes watching the pile. Now, you want that thresher belt or not?"
The boy nodded slowly, the bravado leaving his shoulders. "Just curious. Dad was complaining about the prices, said maybe we should stockpile."