Connor pushed open the door open for her. “If you’re looking for souvenirs, you’re not going to find any place better than A. Schwab’s.”
“Oh god, none of that meretricious crap, please.” She stepped in behind him, peering out cautiously over her designer sunglasses. “I don’t want go home with a suit case of obese plush toys wearing Memphis t-shirts.”
“Really, Bryce? Could you sound more like a pretentious grad student if you tried?” He shook his head at his girlfriend. He loved her, but sometimes he wanted to strangle the entitled New England out of her.
“Straw hats, corn cob pipes, snow globes, obscene vanity license plates? This is where you bring me?”
“That’s because you’re not looking in the right place.” He lead her over to a neglected, dusty corner of the story. An array of religious candles, fetishes and small pouches of dried animal parts covered the tables and peg boards in front of them. “Maybe if you can’t finish your graduate thesis, you can voodoo them into thinking that you did.”
Bryce’s eyes went wide. “My inner high school goth is so hot for you right now.”
“I’m really not sure how to take that.”
The voodoo corner of A.Schwab’s has sadly gone the way of the dinosaur as they ready themselves to be sold, but for many years it was a source of curiosity, wonder and an endless supply of presents for people that didn’t want anything from Target.