[ WP ] Poor people are able to pawn off their memories .

The interior of the shop was run-down, smelling of nicotine smoke and something that oddly reminded the young woman of old leather. It was n't a comforting smell, but it was one that she would have to get used to. With her brother's business failing, they hardly had any money for food, and suddenly their car broke down. 
 
 The man at the counter looked her up and down, eyes seeming to glare into her soul, judging her. She shifted from foot to foot, looking at him with tired eyes, waiting to see if he would speak first. The cigarette in his mouth made her want to make some sort of disgusted protest, but she refrained from doing so. This man was her ticket to money. 
 
 `` Memories,'' she stated simply. The man nodded, reaching under the counter and handing her a mirror. She picked it up, thumb running over the decorative silver surface, before she thought of her old home. It was the first memory that came up as she stared into the mirror. 
 
 Her parents were picking strawberries, whilst she and her brother were holding the baskets. She remembered them being so heavy, but she still carried them as much as she could. The sun was hot against the back of her neck, and she used to wear an sunhat too big for her little head as she would walk. Her parents always thought it was cute. 
 
 The woman handed the mirror back, watching the man behind the counter appraise it, before covering the glass over the mirror and handing her a small wad of cash. Hopefully, it would do. 
 
 As she walked away from the pawn shop, the woman wondered what she had given away.
