The Orphan, The Soulcatcher, and The Black Blizzard Tour stop -> Excerpt
Author Kimberlee Ann Bastian has stopped by my blog today with an excerpt for her blog tour. Check it out!
From Chapter 12: Grocer Sylvester Pawlak – A stand alone chapter between Act I and Act II to introduce Charlie’s employer.
The call of the Union Stockyard siren drifts throughout the streets of Bridgeport, ushering in the start of a new day. The putrid smell of the yards wafts in the air stinging the portly man’s nose. It is a rather chilly, May morning as gusts of wind stir mischievously, which are unusual, even for the Windy City.
“Curse the butchers of the world,” he grumbles.
The portly old man stands dressed in his white apron, trousers, and his signature red shirt, on the Aberdeen Street corner in front of his store. He sweeps the sidewalk with his broom, but has a feeling the effort to tidy up is a wasted one. He gives the occasional nod to folks as they pass by, irritated he cannot yet coax them inside as he is running behind schedule.
“Gut, mornin’, Grocer Pawlak,” says a sultry woman’s voice. Her Polish accent is as thick as her permanent.
The man looks away from the sidewalk to return the greeting, his eyes sizing up the tall woman standing in front of him.
“Aw, Mrs. Hamerski,” he replies in a pleasant, gruff voice. “Best of the morning to you as well, it’s nice to see you out and about. How are Mr. Hamerski and the kids?”
“Oh, well, thanks for asking,” smiles Mrs. Hamerski as wind tousles her tan skirt. “Ooo,” she squeaks, pressing her hand down on the rambunctious cloth. “Interesting bluster we’re having,” she adds in an attempt to veer from her embarrassment.
“Indeed,” says Grocer Pawlak as pleasantly as possible. He hates storms. The only good thing about them is that people stock up on dry goods, but instead of capitalizing on the situation, he still has his store closed. Why, because his stock boy has not yet arrived for his morning duties, leaving him with a partially stocked store, which is no way to run a reputable business.
“I beg your pardon?” chimes Mrs. Hamerski.
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