Chapter 35: Manifest Destiny
A bell rings when I push the heavy glass door open. Light bulbs flicker in the brassy chandeliers. The living room set near the front door is covered in plastic, cracked, and dried over after decades of neglect.
Amun and I enter, looking around for a salesperson. Nothing but saxophone music playing from tinny speakers from somewhere deep inside the store greets us. We continue our customer charade, looking for a footstool or bench, anything to rest our feet on.
I lift layers of plastic off a stool, revealing a southwestern patterned stool that was all the rage in the nineties and is almost back in fashion now.
“This one could work, honey,” I call to Amun from across the room.
“You stain the material, you buy the stool,” croaks a voice from behind me. “Many people come in here with dirty hands.”