It was a dreary day in November. The air had started out crisp and fresh, with sunshine and a sweet breeze. Now the wind was brisk and frigid, the warmth had crept out of the sun, and great icy drops began to pour from the sky.
Mark rushed into the shop, newspaper guarding his head from the sudden shower. The shopkeeper raised his head as the buzzer sounded, eying the sodden man with some suspicion. The expression of annoyance on his face grew as Mark dried his damp boots on the rough mat by the door.
"Nice weather we're having now, isn't it?" he chimed at the sour face behind the counter.
The dour expression didn't change. The comment was recognized by a minute grunt as his focus dropped back to the work in front of him.
"Hey, uh, you got any of those new energy boosters?" he continued undeterred by the absence of enthusiasm. "Might be good on a day such as this."
"No."
"Oh," he frowned and examined his surroundings with more care. The interior was neither dim nor dirty, yet somehow gave a definite impression of being dingy. The shopkeeper had an array of strange objects spread out in front of him and seemed to be picking at something with a pair of tweezers.
Mark moved over to examine an intricate, carved figurine to his right and jumped as the tiny object became warm to the touch. "Aagrhh!" the item seemed to spring from his fingers as it grew red-hot. It bounced off the edge of the stand, skittered across the hard ground, making a surprising amount of noise, and crashed into the corner of the door frame before coming to rest - much diminished - as bits of the pretty thing had chipped off with every bounce and knock.
The shopkeeper started at the unexpected noise, jamming his tweezers into his precise work.
"You buffoon!" He roared. "You staggering, dirty idiot! Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to import those?! How much they cost?!"
"I--"
"Of course you don't! Ignorant man! Stupid, ignorant man! You come into my shop, disturb my work, track footprints in, and then... THEN! You destroy my merchandise! Get out!"
"I'm sorry. I can--"
"You've done enough! Get. Out!"
"You--" He stopped mid-sentence, "Fine, okay, I'm gone." He turned and put his hand on the door.
The shopkeeper grunted, "...take me weeks to get another... Just because of one incompetent man! I need to put a sign out front: 'No humans!'" He eased the tweezers from where they'd stuck with a bright, fuscia pincer and returned three eyes to his work as the fourth tracked a shaken and yet-damp Mark out into the street.
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