I stumbled in from
off the
crazy Mardi Gras
street,
covered in glitter,
beads
and reeking of
copious amounts
of booze. An old
bell clanged
over my head as I
entered.
“Welcome to the
Emporium,” said
the old man behind
the large
wooden counter.
“Sorry, I just
needed to catch my
breath from all the
craziness on the
streets. Too much
crazy,” I said.
“That’s fine young
man, fine,” said the
old man, “plenty of
others have done
the exact same.
Feel free to browse
while you regain
your composure.”
He puffed on a
large pipe as he leaned
against the large weathered
counter.
“Say, what do you
sell in here,” I asked.
“Oh, we’ve got it
all. It’s an Emporium
after all,” said
the old man.
He did not look up
from the faded
newspaper on the
counter.
“Everything, you
say,” I asked.
“Mm-hm,” said the
old man.
I scanned the
various shelves,
cluttered with all
kinds of curious
and odd
collectibles. Antique dolls,
sepia toned framed
photos, jars of
yellowed liquids, taxidermy
owls,
rodents and
squirrels. A giant
moose head on the
wall, wearing
a Mardi Gras crown.
“Sure does look
like everything,” I said.
I wiped some
glitter from the corner of
my cheek. “But have
you got anything
for this depression
I’ve been going through,”
I asked, thinking
myself quite the smarty.
“Sure we do, we’ve
got it all. Just step right
back into our
parlor there and
your depression
will melt away
like chocolate on a
hot fudge
Sundae.”
I gave the man a
glance, askew.
“It’s true young
man, we’ve got
it all,” smiled the
old man.
“A parlor to cure
my depression,
I’ve have to say, I
have my doubts.”
I said.
“Sure, sure,” said
the old man, “it’s
not too hard at
all. Just step though
that doorway there,
let the noise of
Mardi Gras fade
behind you and in no
time at all, your
depression will have
equally faded.”
“Just through these
doors,” I asked.
“Just through that doorway young man,” he said.
He pointed with his
pipe.
I adjusted the
beads around my neck and
stepped through the
doorway, leading down
a long corridor. I
could no longer
hear the sounds of
revelry on the street.
I wondered if this
could be true, could this
unbearable sadness
that’s been weighing me
down be lifted through
this simple magical
New Orleans store,
this Emporium.
I came to a door
and gave it a knock,
there was no answer
so I gave the knob
a turn.
The door opened up,
into an alley, behind
the store. There
was no parlor. The noise
of the citywide
party echoed off the tall brick
walls in the alley.
I put my hands on
my hips and looked back
at the door I have
exited through. It shut
hard behind me.
I started to laugh.
The laughter swelled
up from my stomach
and I held
my belly as I chuckled.
My chuckle became a
deep laugh
as I burst out in
an uncontrollable fit
of riotous cackling.
There were
hysterical tears weeping
from the corners of
my eyes and
for once I felt
like a true fool,
and not the fool I
thought I was.
This made my
chuckle even harder
until I was sitting
on the cobbled alley
surface. Smiling.
I was joy for a
moment.
I wasn’t sad.
I was just there,
laughing in an alley,
and nothing seemed
wrong
about any of it.
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