I am looking for a US flag, the young man said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur led Liam to the wooden crate. He reached in and pulled out a folded nylon flag, crisp and vibrant. Feel that, Arthur said, handing it over. That is 200-denier nylon. It resists fading and flies in the lightest breeze. If your house is out in the open where the wind catches it, this is what you want.

Arthur smiled, a genuine crinkle appearing at the edges of his eyes. I would be honored to sell it to you. But we are not just going to sell you a flag, Liam. We need to get you the right mounting bracket and a spinning pole so it does not get wrapped up in the wind. And I am going to teach you how to fold it properly.

The old hardware store on Maple Street had been there since 1952, its brick facade weathered by decades of brutal winters and humid summers. Arthur, the third-owner of Miller’s Supply, stood behind the heavy oak counter polishing a glass display case. It was the week before the Fourth of July, and the town was beginning to buzz with festive energy. In Arthur's shop, tucked right between the aisles of galvanized nails and gardening shears, was a heavy wooden crate labeled American Made.

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