The whole store really was a relic to times past, even back then and in the middle by the sized glove display sat the old escalator.
The black looping rubber handrail ran over sides of polished oak. Sturdy art deco curves buffed to a high shine from years of waxing. Its symmetry made it like an instrument, a mammoth cello or maybe a double bass.
It shook as we stood tentative on the rickety wooden slats then screeched as it climbed. Struggling on its way. Groaning as it lifted us through the floors, heading to the top, to Santa’s grotto.