not much attention was ever afforded to the outskirt neighborhood where Melanie lived, but she still couldn’t help but be a bit more nervous to go out and get provisions than usual, because that left Finch alone.  though really, her apartment was the safest place for him: never mind that his mobility was less than ideal, there was always the chance someone might recognize him.  still, she couldn’t help but worry a little bit.

and she couldn’t help but worry that the higher frequency of her grocery runs would come across as odd.  but Oscar had trusted the couple who owned it, as had all the good neighbors, and all sources indicated that by some miracle very little had changed about their store in at least thirty years.  besides, nobody had asked, so she had nothing to tell.

it was in one of these runs that she thought about Finch, and it occurred to her that not only was she leaving him alone, she was also leaving him stuck wherever she had left him.  that wasn’t good.

there was a shop she passed on the way home.  it was a thrift shop by name, technically, but it was really more a place with a dim entrance that housed a collection of misplaced odds and ends: anything from thumbtacks and clothes to records and binders, old paperbacks and dodgy umbrellas, and many sorts of things that don’t show up in a neighborhood like this for that kind of price.  it was never clear where or how the owner procured these things, but the lighting and tight arrangement of shelves wasn’t necessarily conducive to questions.  besides, this was where Melanie got a lot of her art supplies.  maybe they’d have something in here for Finch.