“No no, the green carpet is reserved.”

A yellow-speckled blue bird, whose neck boasts a delicate gradient from purple to red which serves as a collar to its uniform which it politely wears while attending to its duty: call attention to passersby and onlookers alike, alluring eyes toward the gently swaying ornate sign which reads “Pleasurable Pastures”, a store for furnishing spaces of any kind for a more sensual and whole experience for every participant, guaranteed.

“Yes, I can either waitlist, or I can recommend something else serviceable.”

A corded phone supplies the shopkeeper’s fingers with a grounding sensation, an automatic activity that represents an enmeshing of the client’s desire to hurry along with the keep’s desire to truly satisfy loftier-than-language needs.

“When you say the green carpet was perfect, if you had to pick what its best quality was, would you say it’s the golden detail work which resembles a creature that doesn’t exist, the variety of thread height to draw guests’ attention, or its unconventional shape which suggests a notion that not all shapes have been discovered yet?”

After the long question, the shopkeeper, whose hair obediently floats just shy of the floor, spilled over the back of the unusual five-legged chair on which she sits, begins to collect the necessary nearby materials to take a vigorous account of the spoken aloud thought process of her client. Scrawling in shapes, hatch marks, and delicate shading, the shopkeeper’s systems are incompatible with understanding by any but her, another detail which cements her position as the most trustworthy and most eccentric interior designer of the era.

Rings of a triplet bell, melodious and sweet in its own right, yet meaningful as ever as it denotes the front door’s opening and the graduation of a citizen from pedestrian to surveyor. The shopkeeper’s eyes dart firstly from the scrawled paper to the woman’s shoes, secondly from the shoes to the position of the blue bird from outside the shop, which flutters and hovers above the woman’s right shoulder and roughly 8 meters from the shop, a cue which suggests that the woman is alone, has traveled succinctly to this shop in specific, ignoring all other pedestrians and all other shops. This bird has been alive longer than the shopkeeper, and the shopkeeper has been alive longer than both this woman and the client on the phone. This bird could be considered an heirloom of the shopkeeper’s low-fame yet high-power family.

Deftly covering the receiver of the phone with her off-hand, the shopkeeper smoothly projects a warm “Welcome in!” while continuing to take enigmatic note of the still-going client’s deep dive into the not-too-complex but just complex enough question. The new guest, the woman in a soft pink buoyant dress, calmly walks toward a particular wall of the shop, acknowledging the welcome with a polite smile and a modest crease of the space to the side of her eyes. She carries a portfolio bag in her right hand, and an envelope in her left.

“Thank you so much my esteemed patron, I will be in contact again within the hour. Please gather any further thought or feeling toward your space’s goal, and I will be glad to assist the vision’s fruition to the best of my abilities. Ta-ta.”

The shopkeeper neatly places the phone back onto its resting place, signifying the end of the call, and folds her note before placing it into the extended shelf of her desk into a spot with other documents all gathered for this client in particular.

The new guest, the woman in the soft pink buoyant dress, has made her way to the wall to the left of the shopkeeper, about three meters ahead of her. On the wall is a collection of tiles which hang from a slow-moving conveyor belt, gently stopping for ten seconds every four seconds to showcase the newly visible selection. She scans them, in deep thought as she envisions them for her purposes, then nodding a second before the tiles begin to travel once more.

Curious, the shopkeeper merely spectates, as it’s abundantly clear that this woman is here for an express purpose. The shopkeeper understands that her role here is quite different from her role with the client on the phone. Whereas the over-call client needed guidance and consultation, this woman is here to articulate through the shop’s wares like it were her own handiwork, like she was a painter and this curated world of the shopkeeper’s was her palette.

Just a second before the tiles are to repeat the collection from the first set which the woman laid eyes on, the shopkeeper presses a button on a panel of gadgetry which pause the tiles’ conveyor’s machinery. Grabbing onto her cane which rests against her desk, she readies herself up and begins to walk over to her guest.

Without skipping a beat, in one contiguous motion, the guest walks forward, dropping the envelope in her left hand to the floor while reaching for a glittering green tile which features an uncountable amount of sparkling colors in the soft warm light of the store. She is transfixed, teleported to the use case she envisions for it, satisfied by its performance and sure of its future.

Gently murmured by the shopkeeper, “A ballroom… a wedding… a party…”, as if she wasn’t exactly speaking to her guest but rather sharing in her vision in awe, a witness to the world which she saw.

“A bittersweet meeting… a death of mixed magnitudes…” continues the guest, filling in cruder details.

Not one to play judge nor one to play police, the shopkeeper feels the softening of a tension she acquired the moment she heard the particular order of the triplet bell which accompanied this guest’s arrival. Each guest tells their story once they walk through the door. If transcribed to a sheet of music—the length of each note’s ring, the loudness of each note’s wail, the rhythm of the notes in sequence, altogether they portend the occasion for the furnishing to be ushered, or rejected, by the shopkeeper’s talents and wares.

“A moment of chaos followed by a world of peace…”, an encapsulation of the future, verified by the shopkeeper.

The guest finally turns her head toward the shopkeeper, acknowledging this world’s potential.

“I will need 1600 of these tiles by June 17th. Is that amenable?”

Uncontrollably grinning, the shopkeeper obliges.

“Of course.”

She turns to make her way to her desk, to ready paperwork signifying the binding agreement. Her guest sits across from her, envelope still on the floor in front of the tiles, portfolio bag now resting against the shopkeeper’s desk. Quickly and thoroughly, the document is interpreted. Despite an inclusion of some of the shopkeeper’s enigmatic notation, the guest makes no suggestion of an expression of a lack of understanding, simply flipping through the packet’s pages before arriving to the places where a signature is beckoned.

In a delicate, perfect style: “Lady Acquiana” is written on four lines which signals the binding is complete.

Cheerfully, with eyes squinted in delight, “I look forward with glee.”

Lady Acquiana then scoots the chair back, attending to her portfolio bag before heading toward the dropped envelope.

Delightfully, with a cheer in her tune, “It is my pleasure to serve.”

The shopkeeper rests back in her chair, amused at another opportunity to provide yet another backdrop to a world-changing affair.

As the triplet bell plays a new tune as the woman in the soft pink buoyant dress exits the store, the blue bird enters the shop, perching atop the cane which once again rests against the desk. It softly coos a melody, an inspired piece with credit to the combination of the two tunes the triplet bell played during this interesting morning.

There is yet still more work to be done. And, so, the shopkeeper gets to work.