Small business fell out of fancy. The little old woman selling flowers around the corner, the burly bumpkin running a diminutive shop selling basics, the older guy with a stache that lives in the block across who you could always go to get your tv fixed, that all stops working as concrete, ceramic and plastic behemoths plow and drag their way into every niche and crevace, nook and cranny they can fit, and sending meaty tendrils, disgusting slimy proxies of corporate minionship, feeling out the ground yet unclaimed, or so it would seem from that perspective.