There had to be a way to solve this problem, so I sat down on my tye-dyed couch near the back of the store.
I remember getting that piece of psychedelic furniture after finding it at a thrift shop in town, and I didn’t want it to gather dust. Hey, I thought it looked cool and it helped me think about certain things.
After some thinking, I had to put on a show to save my business even though it sounded like something from a cliched kids movie or from crappy musicals with irrelevant pop stars.
I had to do it, but I couldn’t pull this off alone.
C. M. B. Bell's Writing Universe 