Elias looked at the cello, then at the peeling sign outside. He zipped the case, but he didn't head for the bank. He headed for the park, the weight on his shoulder finally feeling like it belonged there. Should I add a to this shop, or
"It’s worth ten thousand," she said flatly. "But I’m not buying it." Elias blinked. "What? Why?" we buy instruments
Elias unzipped the case. The mahogany glowed, even in the dim shop light. It was a beautiful, haunting thing. The woman finally looked up. Her eyes weren't on the wood, but on Elias’s hands. "Why?" she asked. Elias looked at the cello, then at the peeling sign outside
The sign was hand-painted, the gold leaf peeling like sunburnt skin. It hung above a shop so narrow it felt like a mistake between two brick buildings. it screamed in faded block letters. Should I add a to this shop, or
The woman pointed a screwdriver at a velvet-lined stool. "Open it."
"I don't play," Elias lied. "I'm a banker. I need the space."
"Because you're not selling a cello," she said, returning to her flute. "You're trying to sell your soul so you don't have to feel anything. Come back when you’re ready to sell me a trumpet you actually hate. Until then, get that beautiful thing out of my shop before I charge you for the concert."
This one will be published shortly.