The old man backed into a space, located not far from the sign-tower. The van door creaked a bit as he opened it. He made

a mental note to spray it down...the WD was...somewhere in the back.  That was another thing on his list; with the challenges of old age, he didn't need clutter to muck up his mobility, any more than getting around already was.  He ambled over toward a vendor's tent, which had been erected, in the middle of the parking lot - just a bit aways from the bank and the neighboring auto parts franchise. 

A few minutes later, a little sky-blue toyota, slowly slid into a row of nearby spaces.  A young girl was behind the wheel; in the passenger seat sat a middle-aged woman.  

While the old man's vision wasn't the greatest, doggoneit, that woman was a beauty.  Here and there around town, he'd see Mrs.Waterfeld either buying groceries, going into the bank, and such.  Always, her obviously long hair gathered up, and her buxom figure beautifully draped in dresses and skirts.  

He made his way to the tent.  Hmmph, the fireworks were more like glorified sparklers - and not quite that glorified.  Dernit, he muttered to himself, something about guys cain't be havin no fun.

Molly pulled the key from the ignition, as her mother extended her hand to receive the chain, her eyes spotted the old van.  Her beautifully manicured hand began to shake. "Ca-can we pa-park someplaceelse?"

"Sure Mom."  Molly caressed her mother's hand.  Molly looked around in all directions.  Oh brother, the lot was about jammed, vehicles - oblivious to something called, uhm, traffic lane markers (hello?) - people driving or walking about every which way they chose.  If it weren't for the green grass and flowered bushes, you'd think it was about ten days before Christmas. But just as well to park down the strip; her mother said something about needing to buy a few more ink cartridges - PlanetFabric didn't sell those.