I see the numbers for the other store every morning, like a little digital scar on my dashboard, right next to our own green ticks. Three months running we've hit it, even busted it wide open once, but then I look at their red figures, flatlining, and it's like a cold stone in my gut. Like… I’m eating good, full up, but the taste in my mouth is still ash from someone else's burned toast. And it don't even hurt, not really, just… there. A dull ache, like the weather changing in an old broken bone.