INT. STORE
MURIEL spies a customer looking up at the top shelf, where the handbags and binoculars are kept, along with some art books and jewelry. She slides across the floor, speaking before she arrives.
MURIEL
Hi.
She extends her hand and then, when it is not taken, withdraws it. She senses that the man is ready for whatever she has to say so she says it.
MURIEL
We don’t have prices, exactly. Pick something out from up there and then spin the wheel. Wherever it lands, that’s what the item costs. That’s how things work here at the store. That’s how we do. It’s our way of making it seem more like a contest, a game. It’s aleatory. That’s a word that Francisco learned in graduate school, a million years ago, before he moved out West, had a band, hit the charts, broke the band up because he thought he could go solo, recognized he was wrong and then some, sunk into addiction, surfaced without drowning, cleaned himself up, did a little acting (you probably remember Rattled, right? No? Brief Candle? Jumping Through June?
Geez—do you ever go to the movies?), made a little cash, started this store. How long has it been a business? That’s a hard question to answer. Francisco has carried this idea around with him for as long as he can remember. How long have we been here? Hard to say, too, depends on whether you mean in town or at this exact location.
Oh, when did we open? Yesterday.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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