It was a quiet morning in terms of customers, if not noise. Behind the counter the shopkeeper watched with one eye glinting over his newspaper as he heard the noise of another tin being pulled out from under the rack and placed aside. In the dusty security mirror, the pair of legs were clearly visible, sticking out from under the corner shelf at the very back of the shop. With some wriggling, the boy backed out, rotated on his stomach to bring the can he held into the light, checked the label and added it to his precarious and increasingly high discard pile. He spun back, pushing himself on his hands, and vanished to the waist back under the shelves. One of his feet waved far too close to the rocking pile of tins, drawing an irate rustle of newspaper and an irritated cough.

Cringing, the boy reached back. One by one, the tins were replaced on the floor under the shelf. Satisfied he wasn’t going to make a mess, the shopkeeper smiled thinly and then glowered at the screech of heavy tins being pushed across the hardwood under the shelf. He shook his head and turned the page.

The noise stopped. Sticking out from under the shelf, the boy’s legs went still. Then he began to shimmy his way out, backing out on his belly as he pushed with one hand. The other was clutching a tin tight to his chest. Sitting on the floor he put the remains of his discard pile back with more enthusiasm than organisation, pulling his own gear close awkwardly as he turned the tin and read the label again. With a whoop that drew another annoyed cough, he pushed himself to his feet, making for the counter with all the speed he could.

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The tin was pushed up and onto the counter. A set of change followed, pushed by fingers that presumably belonged to the mop of brown hair barely visible over the counter’s edge.

The shopkeeper lowered his paper, counting the copper pieces out one at a time. Satisfied, he took his time about opening the ancient till, and dropping the coins in. Only once he had shut the heavy till drawer with a satisfying clunk, did he push the tin back across the counter. The boy seized it, ripping the top off with a happy yell. Holding it up in one hand he ran to the door, pulling it opening and tearing out into the street.

“Mum! Look what I-” Behind him metal clattered to the floor and the shopkeeper rose to his feet.

“Hey, take your litter home with-” The jangle of the door closing cut him off.

Grumbling, the shopkeeper went to the front of the counter and picked up the leg braces. Opening the door to the already overflowing lost property cupboard he tossed them in and slammed the door before the whole pile could fall on him. He wished customers would have the courtesy to come back for their things. They never did.