Opening Day, Part Seven

Donovan Allman hated Dillish wine, but he couldn’t deny its effects. It made him lively, happy, personable, in a way no other drink seemed to. He imagined for his new life as a shop keep, he’d have to get used to its rich, spicy taste.

When the time came, he theatrically downed one final glass, got up from his seat behind the counter, and made his way to the front door in long, dramatic strides. “Paz,” Donovan said, and the door threw itself open, and stayed that way. Lastly, he hung a sign that attached to the bottom of the chrysanthemums. It read, written in chalk: “Open.”

And they were. Continue reading “Opening Day, Part Seven”

Opening Day, Part Two

The mayor’s house, a lovely wooden building from a more elegant time, had two entrances: there was the personal door, which was open on evenings, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and every other Monday; and then there was the business door, which was opened all other times (save for the times when neither door was open, such as when the mayor was sleeping or during the semi-annual Losing of the Keys). Continue reading “Opening Day, Part Two”