I work in a shop in the center of town. The sidewalk in front of the store kisses the mainstreet and on sunny days our emerald green crosswalks wink flagrantly at the tourists coming and going and oohing and aahing over every little mundane, adorable detail of the street front. They didn't grow up here. For them the town is all welcoming sweetness, here for their express pleasure to fulfill every whim of their vacationing desires.
Throughout the day groups of two or four women stroll in, either alone or with their reluctant husbands in tow. If husbands are present, the women rapturously admire the trinkets and bare unnecessities on the shelves in hopes of hinting boldly enough to open the wallet. And on occasion, heaven help the girl behind the counter, for the conversations one is forced to overhear can be scandalous!
"Don't Mess With the Cook's Buns" One old gentleman read the sign on the wall to his friend and laughed. "I should have that put on my BBQ apron at home. Jean's always grabbing me!"
His wife nodded. "I just can't get enough of him." Then, very confidentially, her husband leaned closer to his friend and said in a stage whisper "I thought it was good when we were young. But it just keeps getting better with age!"