"'Can you fix it?'
She stood just past the threshold of the shop, her fingers fiddling possessively with a small bronze pocket watch. Smells of all welcoming sorts enveloped her like a coaxing hug: lacquered wood, loose leaf tea, and a hint of rosemary olive oil bread that lingered in the distance.
'Only if you want me to.'
He didn't turn around, preoccupied with his work at hand. The gentle noninvasive chorus of ticks and tocks from the walls and walls of clocks filled the sandalwood air with its sweet, calming sound. His response hung in the air and was not met with any sound of acknowledgment. He put down the petite iron hammer with which he had been fixing a dent in a clock gear and turned around to see a little girl awkwardly stretch out her occupied palms. When he motioned to take the bronze pocket watch, like an injured beast, she started and instinctively clenched her tiny fingers around the chain of the soundless piece of metal.
'Do you want me to?'
She stretched our her palm again only to recoil after a moment's hesitation. She pressed the pocket watch against her chest as if she could somehow absorb it and fix it herself.
'Will you let me?'"
[ emotional quarantine ]
sidenotes;
stumbling through the fray
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