With nothing else to do but wait, Toby sat down. The hardwood chair was pretty comfy. A butt-divot had been worn smooth by many years' use. He kicked his feet. He checked himself, feeling for the tingle. There, but far from insistent. Plenty of time left. He swiveled around to look through the store window behind him. Lots of old, old windup tin toys were on display. Colorfully-painted ducks and bees and caterpillars. Little cast iron cars. The rest of the shop could have been mistaken for a junkyard. Oodles of dusty knickknacks, appliances, instruments and oddities piled up on the shelves. It seemed like this place fixed up broken items too, from the spread of clockwork visible on a deerskin mat under a bright light on the countertop. Across the top of the window was hand-painted in beautiful cursive: GUSTAFSSONS' TOYLAND.
'I wish this was real and I had time to go in and look around,' Toby thought.
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6 years, 7 months ago
10 Sep 2017 14:56 CEST
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