The day Murder Kroger died was a long time coming. Some shoppers first noticed the removal of the flickering 24-hour neon sign from the top of the building at 725 Ponce de Leon Avenue. Others saw the piece of printer paper taped to the sliding doors over the summer that said the store would start closing at 1 a.m. Still, a few friends held out hope the city permit process, broken by bureaucracy, would indefinitely stall a demolition set to begin any day.

The day Murder Kroger died cut short the life of a gregarious grocer at the young age of 30. The construction crews would soon swing the wrecking ball past the hollow Masquerade—a legendary local rock club forced out of the area by development—toward the store’s beige brick walls. By the time this story went to press, the coroner had yet to determine the cause of Murder Kroger’s death. Initial reports suggested demolition. However, witnesses suspected an autopsy might find traces of gentrification in the store’s system.

The day Murder Kroger died came 133 years after its father, Barney Kroger, poured his life savings of $372 into his first store in Cincinnati. The grocery chain had expanded considerably over the years to over 2,700 stores in nearly three-dozen states. Starting this November, though, the Kroger family would grow a little smaller without the presence of Kroger No. 295.

The day Murder Kroger died did not allow for a eulogy. Instead of an obituary, the Atlanta Business Chronicle ran a 308-word piece online with this headline: “Final nail put in Murder Kroger's coffin.” In lieu of flowers, the store’s manager held one final blowout sale—50% off all frozen foods—before closing up shop.