Gustav slouched in the chair behind his candy cart, chin in hand and eyes blank. The sun was beginning to set and he hadn’t had a single customer the entire day. He had tried Main Street at lunchtime. Nothing. He tried the schoolyard during play time. Still nothing. It was becoming more and more apparent these days that folks had more pressing things to think about than candy. The headline on the newspaper displayed beside him drove the thought home.

JUNE 4. 1944. FRANCE INVADED; ALLIED TROOPS LAUNCH MIGHTY OFFENSIVE.

As if this dry spell wasn’t bad enough, around lunchtime some filthy street kid had snatched a Milka bar right off the front of his cart. Gustav must have chased him down for half an hour, scanning the crowd for the child’s distinctive fiery red hair, but it was no use. The boy was a regular bullet. Of all the things the child could have snatched, the Milka bars were one of the most expensive. Making a profit for the day was already going to be a herculean endeavor, and in one swift motion one greedy child had made it impossible.
Gustav stood up and folded his chair, not knowing what else to do other than call it a day. He looked pleadingly into the face of every passerby he encountered on his way to the...