• It had been a long time since I'd some good old-fashioned candies. Honestly, when that candy store opened on the corner, I thought it would be gone in a week, but they actually have a line now. And now I know why.

    It was a colder day, and thick fog was twisting in the cobbled streets in whispering tendrils, threatening to suffocate anyone in the twisting lanes. The fog had claimed most of the visibility, but I managed to stumble through it's frightentingly cold grip. The deeper I went, it seemed, the colder I became. I wondered on and on until I was afraid my hands and ears would turn blue, though how would I know? I couldn't even see them!
    It became apparent to me that I had somehow wandered into a street, at least eight blocks away from my desired destination. I knew I'd just have to call a cab, so while I waited for the fog to lift, I looked for somewhere to warm up, and to my delight, a small candy/bakery store had just opened up. A worker had opened to door to check for mail, and even as he did, from where I was standing, I could just barely smell the odors wafting towards me, odors rich in chocolate so rich a king couldn't afford it, mint so strong your eyes would water, and cinnamin so spicy it made my tounge fall asleep.
    Although I was dismayed when the door closed behind the young man and the odors ceased to mingle with the moist air, I was delighted, again, to realize that they were open for business. Without any more delay, I walked into the store, and as I did so, a yellow cab passed the door, and I hardly took any notice at all as my senses were caressed with aromas only angels could know.

    It took me some time to realize the shop was nearly empty and that I was drooling, though anyone who had seen me was obviously polite enough to not tell me. I wiped the dribble off my face and procceeded to stare with glorious reverence at the counter before me.
    I happen to have a mother that would fall to her knees and thank the lord after seeing the prices on the candies and cakes that were there. Brownies for as much as a dime and slices of decadent cake for fifty cents a pop. And speaking of pop, an opening in the bar was laid out especially for soda. There was a freezer built into the bar, so that one could see from the other side the glorious sight. The freezer, (as anyone should expect) was nearly full to the brim with ice, and on the top were glass bottles, each filled with it's own color, not one appearing twice.
    When a cashier noticed my gawking, they smiled broadly at me, and tried to offer me a first-customer discount, and I was nearly histerical with tears as they tried to offer me a brownie for a penny. I politely decilned and payed her two dollars, told her to keep the change (not without the hysterical note, mind) and sat at the bar to enjoy my meal of godly sweets.
    I had ordered two brownies, a small bag of horehound candies, a cup of sweet tea with a lemon slice, a slice of cake, and a few skewered strawberries that had been dipped in chocolate and doused in powdered sugar. All for a dollar-fifty. I dug into my food, sucking down the tea and scarfing the cake, as it was so delicious, Ode to Joy was playing in the back of my head as imginary tears stained my cheeks while I chewed.
    The cashier laughed, reddening my face, so I straightened my back and ate like a lady. By the time I was finished, I wasn't much afraid for my figure. I had an obscene metabolism, and I'm sure I could visit that store again and again for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert and still maintain a somewhat flat stomach.
    I had decided to savor the Horehound candies, for they were rare in the current day, and as I stood to leave, I bought a caramel apple for the road. When I had paid the five cents, the cashier asked me to try a piece of the Horehound candy. I happily obliged, and popped a piece into my mouth. The bitterness of the candy swept over me, and before I knew it, I had swallowed the candy and had fallen to the floor.

    Sorry. I still question if what happened that day actually happened, but when I looked next to me, I saw a man with dark hair and coal eyes laying next to me, a cane in one hand, my hand in his other. Where the wrapper had been, his hand now was. Me being the typical easily-frightened and paranoid moron that I was, I leapt to my feet and pointed at him. "Who is he!?", but he only got up, with the help and support of his cane, and laughed at me. I glanced for the cashier, but she had gone to the back, hopefully to call 911.
    The man advanced on me, and stuck his hand out, gesturing that I should shake it. He had a light british accent when he spoke, "I do think you should shake the hand, common courtesy, isn't it? My name's Gregory Holme. Mates call me Holmes, and so can you.", he chuckled, pulling a cigarrette out of his pocket, despite the "Thank you for not smoking" sign that I knew hung just over my head.
    I shook his hand, although it was more of a literal 'shake' than a gesture of greetings. I was so shocked by his appearence that my entire hand was shaking out of control, though Holmes didn't seem to notice as he was patting his pockets, no doubt looking for a lighter. "Spare a match?", he asked with a cocky grin on his face.
    It was the kind of smile that made me want to punch him.