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Melancholy of a shoemaker

Main Ingredients:
bus stop

Spice Pack:
1 smidge of terror
1/8 teaspoon of melancholy

I was on my way to my mother-in-law’s, but it wasn’t going well. First you would think as a shoemaker, that I wouldn’t be busy, but its hiking season so everyone and their mom wants new hiking boots. Most of the year I have so little work its laughable. People always talk about being a writer or an artist for making your own schedule. But the secret third choice is being a shoemaker. Not-everyone reads, and not-everyone looks at art, but everyone needs shoes. So everything I make is a sale. The downside though is 1 time a year I’m super busy, and that time happens to be now. So not only is she ruining my tranquil melancholic existence, but she’s taking me away from the most important time of my year. Now I’m leaving my job early to make there on time and the guess what happens, the bus is late to the stop. Maybe if I made more shoes I would have a car, but hey I never said I like making shoes. So I’m siting here at the stop waiting in the rain dreading the terror involved with meeting my mother in law. Her gaze is in-escapable and her breath always smells like oysters. She locks you in and you are completely unable to escape, and the cherry on-top? I hate oysters. Boy is this going to be fun.

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