Boris Garage: The Never Ending Wave of Junk

The front door opens, a pungent skunk smell quickly overtaking the usual earthy undertones of the store. It trails behind a young man dressed in head shop chic, he moves slowly and deliberately, a look of bemusement on his face.

Christian’s eyes wander in the man’s direction, who utters a meek, “sorry man” to Christian, acknowledging the obvious.

Fast on his heels is Art, a judge in nearby Candor. He’s a frequent customer and friend of Christians.

“Whoa, what are you doin in here Christian,” he says, cracking a smile as he approaches the glass counter.

Christian lets out a laugh, “It’s the hippies man, I can’t help it.”

“Those damn hippies,” Art jokes back, before turning to look at a low rider bicycle.

 

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