Terrence Stewart and the Magic Whatever

Terrence“It’s every July 13th,” Mr. Wibb explained. “You’re in here every week practically, what do you mean you’ve never heard of it?”

“Mr. Wibb, there is no such thing as the Magic Whatever Sale,” Terrence protested.

“Every July 13th, young man,” Wibb’s eye glimmered as he swept his hand across the shelf deeply lined with toys and games.

“I’m already too old for this shop, so I’m definitely too old for dumb games and tricks like this.” Terrence crossed his arms and grumbled as Mr. Wibb led him through the toy shop. As always, it was empty except for Terrence Stewart who had, just as Mr. Wibb said, been into the shop at least once a week for last six years, ever since he was old enough to walk the 5 blocks from his apartment on his own.

“It’s not just the magic and illusion sets, but everything in the whole store. Thus: Magic Whatever.”

“How does that even work? The magic sets are just tricks anyway, so what would make everything magical just because of a sale?” He picked up a long Monopoly box. “It’s not even a sale! This is marked up three bucks higher than normal!”

“But now it’s not just an iron and pink dollar bills and free parking. Now it’s a totem, an item of significant other meaning. A Magic Whatever.”

“Now it’s $23 instead of 20,” but Terrence had taken the box in hand.

“What if I just gave it to you, boy?” Mr. Wibb’s grin stretched gently above his scruffy chin.

“Magic’s got no place in my life,” Terrence spouted mechanically.

“Now who went and put that idea in your head?”

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