A woman enters, laughs, spits on the floor, resentment curling down her lips, and exits with a cheerful tingle of the fairy bell. “In all god frickin damnation, ” Kenny mutters, crouching under the counter for a dirty rag to mop up the puddle. Again their hands struggle to complete the objective, sidetracked by discarded book jackets and should-have-been-fuzzy-rags-but-are-in-fact-fuzzy-something-else’s. Alas, they are too late and one of the Brunch-Peruse-Dance-ers has broken off. Curiously, she seems to be trying to meld her face with the floor to get at eye level with the puddle. She whistles a gust along the lake, coaxing floating dust to shore. A particularly sharp, particularly dandruffed gifted dancer snaps a turn past the puddle, flinging dandelions into the lake. She jumps on them before they disappear into wishes, tracing a finger on the spittle’s surface and collecting the dust into one big clump, drawing it slowly upwards in a droplet clung to her finger. She stands and rotates to face Kenny, fingerpad proceeding her lips. They smile and gratefully receive the wishes as they scatter on their desk, accompanied by the rain to make them grow.
Accepting the keyboard from Kenny’s outstretched hands, she humbly types:
Canoer, player in the winds of wishes, works well with others
The database blinks and returns her entry:
[Amiable Seagull] (1)
Kenny encouragingly nods her on and she presses the key for another line:
A woman who laughs like it is her greatest regret and spits like it’s her birthday cake
[Mother on her leash] (1)
*Flicks wrist—them
[Green- eyed Sunflowers] (11)
Kenny turns the screen back to themselves and solemnly clicks ‘Add’. The tavern sign flips Closed and the shop empties. Puddles slurp up a leash, feathers dance, and seeds crunch.
They return the dropped books to stretching shelves, adding newcomers at the end. A fruitful day.