They line up for it, in eager rows. It is an honor to be chosen. They are extremely patient and on their best behavior.
It is what they were made for, what they anxiously await with unblinking eyes.
One voice of dissent mutters that four dollars is too low a price, but he is ignored.
It is an honor to be chosen, regardless of price. They all know that the price is just a formality.
To have all thought, all cares obliviated by sticky sweetness.
Nothing matters after that. Nothing at all.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.