⋆ ̊ θρ ̊⋆ DOUBLE DEE || ED, EDD, 'N EDDY

The air of warm pastries was competing in the basks of the sun's bathing. Was the weather lately that unstable? From the down degrees to the upper degrees? Even if the woosh of light air had went past the heads of others, even if the rain could have poured down, people were always going to be around. The tourists and the locals alike!

Flap! Rustle! Swoosh!

Shimmering coins clattered as they were passed from hand to hand, the repetitive exchange broken by the sound of voices, some lilting with laughter, others negotiating in the hushed intensity. Freshly baked bread and the perfume of juicy citrus blended with the subtle metallic smell of ancient cash registers a few rows away. Their hues glowed in the golden afternoon light as they rose and fell like restless birds, twisting and billowing before resting once more. Every step raised the aroma of the carefully wrapped herbs in the stalls, which included fresh basil, spicy cilantro, and the earthy sweetness of shiso.

Beside crates of ripe oranges, their pebbled rinds warm from the afternoon heat, were baskets of strawberries, their scarlet flesh sparkling. The sizzling of oil from a neighboring food stand, where grilled fish skewers sent up wisps of smoke that curled into the air before fading into the blue sky, blended with the gentle thud of knives on wooden cutting boards . . .

Never has it ever been a slow day, but it has been inclining to be moderate to the time ticking of Double Dee!

His ink black hair strands had snuck out from the space of his comfortable beanie as his round-monolid had been steadying in the setup of the forest green tent had been helping setting up through and through. The canvas' edges were being pulled by the wind, which had increased once again. His hands were rough from this again in slight slippering slope and he pulled the tent poles into position.

A mark of tenacity and innumerable mornings spent outside, the worn cloth waved in the air like an ancient flag. The coldness of the metal contrasted sharply with the warmth of the sun as it crept over his shoulder hidden with the thin-light cozy brown jacket as he adjusted one of the metal rods! It had been immensely bothering him for hours, seeing how the breeze could shake the poles.

His routine rarely varied: In the morning, he got up and went to work at the little shop downtown, (he worked early enough that he could get home to his small flat by mid-late afternoon), then get to the hour classes for the night, study. Repeat.

Today was different. Not only because he had been kind enough to help his fellow coworkers set up the sales for the outdoor spring market, but from also how he has been too perspective on the smallest details. Not exactly the great kind, the one habit to nip at his brain. It was a good pace so hopefully, even with the bustling of the customers and tourists, he was able to get back home to ease before his night classes for the week.

Although it was warm, there was a hint of unease in the air, a breeze that was too unpredictable for his liking.

After all, he had to manage the entire area—his violet space—rather than simply the tent. He wished he could socialize more and he did, really, with whenever a customer or tourist went to check out the trinkets and he would greet them with his dorky smile or hope for them to have a 'nice' day.

Shuffle.

He moved slightly to the left and then to the right, shifting the pole's angle as though the difference were significant enough to tilt the world's scales. He weaved the ropes between his fingers in a deliberate dance, never letting them get too tight or too loose.

In the warm embrace of the sun, the cloth appeared to hold its breath as it folded and unfolded from the next breeze coming up to taint his sand-beige skin in halfing blue and yellow! Constant loop, over. He made a gentle huff, his fingers hesitant to let go of the pole. There, it seemed like everything had been steady within the green fabric . . . In that buzz, he wondered if maybe he would have bumped into any of his friends or acquaintances here. It was local! He knew definitely that Eddy or Ed would have been around in this nice, sunny weather—

Light and fluttering like if it were a forgotten message, a brown light bag—the one he had never seen before—rose into the air. He had worked so hard to make the tent steady, yet the brown paper crinkled and swirled in a beautiful arc. Really, it was a ludicrous thing. A bag for lunch. Empty. And yet there it was, floating up, blown away like a shard of a lost idea that had his eyes following it with widening realization.

. . . Curses for being paired as a shift leader with people who didn't know any better.

He instinctively made a strong retreating gesture with his hands! The bag fluttered closer, a pointless warning in the guise of the wind, and he took a few hurried steps forward, his gaze fixed on it. For a brief moment, the tent faltered—too quickly to hold, too late to reach it!

The overlooked paper bag was picked up from the cobblestone floor by the wind, which was erratic in its whims, and it began to whirl slowly and spirally. Lifting and twisting, it found its next unwary prey with precision accuracy.

Whap!

A rustling of dryness. The world dissolved into crinkled brown for a minute! "Oh, dear!" came in the scratchy voice of Double Dee—startled, worried, laced with a refined kind of distress.

Fingers, careful and efficient, peeled away the offending object, revealing the poor stranger whose entire presence seemed to be an apology wrapped in a cardigan, not to mention with THAT little stumble from them!

"I am so sorry! Are you alright?” he asked, his expression straddling the line between deep concern and quiet exasperation at the sheer absurdity of it all!