The Shopkeeper--Snippet 2

"You got any shoes made out a' alligator skin or snake skin?"
"What was that? I didn't quite catch that last bit." the shopkeeper said coming back to his shop from his head.
"Boy, something like that would make a yella' suit pop! Gosh'd almighty it would."
"Can't say that we do. Wouldn't you be interested in any of our patent leather options. They'd be bright and shiny for ya'."
"Naw, patent leather'd make this whole get up look a little cheap. I guess I'll leave the suit here and go and see if I can get the shoes first. Shoes make the man, they say..." he trailed off.
"Sounds like a plan for sure. I'll hold the suit for ya' for up to a week. And if ya' will call me before you come by, I could have the suit pressed and ..." the shopkeeper stopped himself because the customer had quit listening and was staring at the wall behind him.

   The oddly-shaped man smiled and nodded and then left. The shopkeeper was again left with nothing except the ugly, yellow pants and jacket and empty shop. It looked like a life size banana peel for the 800 lb. gorilla that everyone was always talking about. He laid the suit down on the counter gently in order to make sure no wrinkles would arrive and then slowly made his way outside, knowing full well that he had plenty of time to put the suit up before he closed for the day. He was in no hurry; Thursdays were always long, slow days. He hated them more than Mondays. Thursdays used to mean something, but now like everything else in Ider, they didn't mean a damn thing. It used to be the day men came in to find something nice to wear for meetings and out of town engagements, but you didn't need a suit in a factory. The company gave you your clothes and washed them too.
   He pushed open the heavy glass door and propped it open and then instantly regretted it. He hated what had sprung up around his shop, but it didn't surprise him.  Businesses these days were just like those birds that followed trash trucks to the dump. They would pick at the trash until nothing was left and then close down and move to the next load. They called it capitalism, but he thought it looked more like parasitism; living off of something else until it died. He wished they would all die, but then felt bad for thinking so. He was no different, he thought. He just called his store something that sounded more upscale. He had been forced to become like them, but he knew that he had once been an eagle and now threw up the trash he now had to eat. Everyone got hungry, didn't they. Even eagles were forced occasionally to eat a scrap, weren't they?

"You open or are you getting ready to go to supper?"
"Yes, sir, we're open for business. What can I do ya' for?"
"I was hoping you could help a man out. I need me a pair of them dark, denim jeans for the weekend. The missus has put her foot down about this party we're going to."
"I'm afraid we don't carry the kind of denim that you're into, but we could get you into a nice pair of slacks that would make you and the missus happy."
"Well....that's the last thing I want to do, show up at some party looking like I think I'm better than everybody in some fancy pair of slacks. You got any other ideas?"
"I'm afraid not. I was just trying to make you look nice."....

Keep writing? Or shut it down?
  David