The neon sign above the pawnshop flickered, buzzing like a trapped fly. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and old paper.
The shopkeeper, a man whose face was a roadmap of bad decisions, peered over his spectacles. "The Lembouruine? That’s not for sale, sweetheart. That’s a consignment piece. Very specific instructions." lembouruine mandy added
"You're late," she said, her voice sounding like two stones rubbing together. "Mandy? You... you moved to Seattle. You got married." The neon sign above the pawnshop flickered, buzzing