Elan ran his fingers through his hair as he leaned over the counter. It was a particularly slow day for him, as if it wasn’t normally slow anyways, and he put his face in his hands. Selling Native American trinkets was all he could do, and even then, no one seemed to want them. He looked at his dream catchers and hoped someone would come in, his wish being granted with the sound of the front door bell. “Welcome!” he said, straightening up.












