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Black Market Bakery.

March 21, 2009

I had been told that I would inherit grandma’s old house. I went over there and didn’t know whether I should take my shoes off or not. It was dark. Andrew A’s shoes were already at the door. The door was open and it was dark. I checked out the back, but the garden wasn’t there. It was a black market bakery. I opened it up. First I started putting prices on all of the spray paint. five pounds for white paint, 15 pounds for yellow paint. I had no idea how to price them. Anthony started talking about how it was great that I was starting up the family business again so he could go out tagging. I didn’t realise that it was one of his favourite things to do. Everything else in the bakery (the bread and the vegetables) had already been priced. Pretty soon there were loads of customers, and we were doing business. There were a lot of people there to help me. Katrina and her husband, Jeff, Laura, and others. There were 11 people all up.

One guy saw a mixed vegetable tray and wanted it. He kept taking the
vegetables to other places and then brought them back to the tray. He
thought it was the most brilliant practical joke. He eventually bought
it for 1480 yen.
When it was getting late and I thought we had sold enough for the day I packed everything up. I said that we should go inside and talk about how we should split today’s earnings. I got up in front of everybody and said that since there was 11 of us, we would just divide it by 11. Everybody started laughing and then Andrew A jumped up and pushed me down. He addressed everyone: “He actually thought he owned and ran this club? Look at the little owner. Look at his little owner face,” he kept pushing me, “You like this place, don’t you? You like it here and you like your little girlfriend?” He laughed and started jumping on me, much to the amusement of the others.
I made a dash for the door. Some others blocked my way and a big black guy held a knife to my throat. “Awww…poor Andrew doesn’t want to  be bossy boss any more,” said Andrew A. Then we all turned into a ‘the Cosby Kids’ style cartoon. 70s funk music started playing. The black guy slit my throat a little, but I made a run for it. The music went into chase mode. Everyone was a little nuclear explosion. Only Snoopy was left. He was wearing a beret.

I went back to the house. It was still dark. My  bakery had turned into a music shop. It was closed.

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