Storefront

The only time she had ever seen someone in front of the house was when she bought her cigar boxes for a dollar each. Otherwise, it was simply an unmanned porch. There were always things for sale – all of them out in the open without prices and no indication other than a “Sale!” sign that suggested an actual business rather than hoarding. This was the first time she’d seen eggs. They could have been store-bought eggs – there was no way to tell the difference before actually eating them – but she somehow believed the sign anyway. Cynicism, for better or for worse, slips quietly away whenever she walks through the village towards the river.

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