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[Blank] or Would You Like Some Tea While You Wait?

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

That is all that can be heard from Krause Shoe Repair. Henrik Krause bent over his work bench in the back of the shop; a dimly lit room except for a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. It is late morning and Henrik is finishing a repair before the shop opens. He looks up and sees the small cuckoo clock on the wall. It is 6:55. Henrik makes the finishing touches on the sole of this pair and makes his way over to the storage shelf setting the finished pair down, waiting for their owner along with many pairs of boots.

Before he headed up to the front to unlock the door for the slow flow of costumers, he steps in front of the small mirror he placed on the back wall to fix himself. He takes a glob of the Brylcreem product and spreads it through his raven black hair, fixing it with a comb. He grabs the small brass key from a hook next to the doorway and makes his way toward the front of the shop, pulling back the curtain that separated the work shop from the front. He is not tall enough to hit his head, but he ducks all the same.

He moves elegantly, barely making a sound, and slides the key into the key hole, the door making a small click. The cuckoo sounds.

Looking out, the street is empty. It usually would be, considering the time of day. However, the circumstances intensify the eeriness of the scene Henrik looks out on. Many of the shops where men and women would go to get clothing tailored, buy their bread, or the children would buy their allowances worth of candy were all boarded up. Years ago, in 1933, the Jewish merchants were forced to close shop. It was now 194, going on 1940, and they were still closed. People came and went, but once they realized that opening a store in Darmstadt was not a means of money, they closed shop and went elsewhere. The only shops that had remained open were the shops that served a purpose, and had been handed down, like ­­­­­Schmitt and Sons the smiths. Kraus' shop had stayed in business because many of the soldiers who needed their boots fixed and the wealthy families in the area knew the Kraus name and it was synonymous with cobbling. His was one of the families who had been practicing the trade for generations and were the best in town.

Henrik heaves a great sigh at the sight he has the pleasure of looking out on to every morning and turns back to go and work, waiting for the little brass bell to announce the arrival of the first customer of the day.

Having finished the shoes Henrik decides to work on his novel; he sits down at a small table at the very back of the shop, near the stairs that lead up to his apartments, and began to write out the finished copy of his draft on the typewriter. He had a few books published back in 1932, a few children novels, but last year he decided to pick up the pen again and try his hand at a larger scale book. He had typed out a few sentences when he came across one that did not seem quite right.

Alexia flew down the stairs, stepping over the hand strewn pearls on the stairs.

Pulling the paper from the machine, he crosses it out and wrote out another version.

Flying down the stairs, Alexia jumped over the pearls Gerhard had thrown down.

Henrik shakes his head, feeling the first waves of frustration flow over him.

Alexia flew down the-

The pearls were strewn dashed thrown about the stairs-

"Gah!" came a guttural exclamation, and he throws the pencil down. Frustrated, he quickly crosses the room, just in time to hear the jingle of the bell, announcing the first costumer of the day. Slightly startled, Henrik straightens his tie and quickly makes his way to the front of the store.