The exercise:
Let's see what we can do with: the collector.
Kat taught her first yoga class in Osoyoos this morning - she was subbing for another teacher at the local studio. But next week she starts teaching yoga for kids and beginning in November she'll be teaching adults at least a couple times a week.
The winter chapter of our lives here is about to begin. But until then, we've got another restaurant order to pick/deliver tomorrow and a market on Saturday to prepare for.
Mine:
John McKee's shop was located on a dusty street in a town too small for most maps to mention. He spent no money on advertising and the sign above his door was so faded that you needed a magnifying glass and a little luck to make it out.
But he never lacked for customers, for those who had need of him knew where to find him.
John stocked his shelves with oddities and rarities and all sorts of other-ties that he'd collected in the course of his biannual trips to the far flung reaches of the planet. A man could wander that store for days and not find a single thing he could name with any certainty.
But then, that sort of man wouldn't have even known John's place of business existed in the first place.
The authorities left him alone, for the most part. They looked the other way when he'd had a sudden influx of baby tigers; they ignored the ruckus of exotic birds that surely must have been endangered, they were so beautiful and strange; and they found themselves busy with paperwork the week he'd had working voodoo dolls in stock.
