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Created on: May 19, 2010
Smells of clove and sage drifted up the stairwell, coming over the green and golden sign jutting out of the building and off into the sky, inviting passersby and collectors down into the den. Iron steps led down between brick and mortar walls covered in ivy and lichen to an open wrought iron gate, taller than a man, whose bars were twisted in a blacksmiths forge. A water fountain, the kind you can find in a cheap novelty store, poured water over plastic rocks and pennies from unrealized dreams. Stepping over the welcome mat and into the store, Jackson heard ambient music from a dream-scape disc being played over the pa system. Bells chimed, nine of them, as the door shut, announcing his passage into Ashely's Collectibles.
"Be with you in a second," said a man wearing a pin striped shirt and pencil thin suspenders, whose back was to him.
It was exactly as he remembered it, well almost, since he last visited Mr. Ashely and his assortment of goods. LED lights climbed over and around cases of porcelain angels painted white and black, silver and gold, displaying smiles of profound sadness and intense joy. A cute hippie with flowers in her jet black hair and chains around her deeply tanned wrist stood folding Alpaca wool sweaters on a rack. It wasn't the same hippie from before, but all stores in Bohemian districts around the country have hippies working for them.
Turning from around the antique cash register that must have prospered during the great depression, Mr. Ashely smiled his best smile, all charm and porcelain white teeth, stained around the edges from only the best cigars. Surprise flashed across his eyes and the corners of his mouth twined upward into a grin.
"Well, I'll be damned Chief," said Mr. Ashely as he warded is fingers, crossed, before his eyes. "Never thought I'd see you in this part of the prairie again. Let me guess, a girl? Your moms cooking or did those mountains scare you? Because, you know, woman are everywhere, all kinds, thin and plump, ugly and
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