The bells were like any other bells hanging from the front door of a small business, but the front door stuck, so when the damn thing popped open they usually just smacked back against the door with a clunk instead of a tinkle.
The guy who came through the stuck door was sweaty, looked a bit manic.
He came toward the desk too fast, sweat dripping from his left elbow.
Alvin Buchsia pressed on his gimpy knee to make it straighten properly, sucked back a groan as the joint crackled and wobbled, and blurted Can I help you? so fast it came out “Kelpyoo.”
The sweaty guy stopped, straightened, and unleashed a friendly, warm smile.
Alvin downshifted from annoyed, but was still on his guard. He swallowed another groan as he stepped forward and steadied himself on the glass counter, placing his hand down in the shadow of a hanging Douglas B-26 model, the 1/72 scale plastic version of the plane he used to fly.
“I’m the guy who called about-”
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