Typewriter Emergencies May 2017

omelet bubbling in his brain, walked to
the front door to throw the bolt.
It opened before he got there and the
afternoon sunlight was swallowed by
coarse, brown fur. From near the top of
the doorframe, a head bigger than Harriet
Hennypenny’s whole body dipped
down. A long snout tipped with a black
nose poked very close to the pig.
Mr. Piggywiggy’s nose was assaulted
with a powerful, woodsy musk. It made
him sneeze.
“Um. I’m sorry. We’re closed.”
The enormous head glanced to one
side and came back.
“Sign says you’re open ‘til six,” the giant
creature said. Mr. Piggywiggy could
smell copper on the animal’s breath. Its
teeth were yellow. Tiny red flecks dotted
them near the gums.
“That’s more of a guideline, really,” he
said, taking a step back. “You know how
these mom-and-pop businesses work:
the owners open and close whenever
they feel like it.”
“Who’s the owner?”
The silence stretched out for a long
time as the pig met the black eyes of the
bear.
“I suppose I could stay open for a little
longer. I mean, as long as you can be
quick about it.”
Nodding, the beast worked his way
inside, leaving a tuft of fur snagged in
one of the hinges. Mr. Piggywiggy took
his usual place behind the counter and
picked up the puzzle; he put random
vowels and consonants into the blank
spaces so they looked like words. Glancing
at the clock, he sighed.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here
before, Mr…”
“Bear. Joseph Tiberius Bear. Call me
Joe. I usually shop at Vinnie’s Fish Market,
but they’re closed; owner’s on vacation.”
“Oh, I know Vinnie; pelican, isn’t he?”
“Cormorant.”
“Right. Cormorant. Um, Mr. Bear.
I mean Joe. I’m not sure we’re going to
have what you’re looking for here. This
is more of an, ah, herbivore kind of market.”
Mr. Bear turned and looked at the pig
for a long moment. His eyes were holes
in his head. The proprietor’s pink face
flushed a deeper red.
“I’m an omnivore,” the Bear said. “I eat
pretty much everything.”
Mr. Piggywiggy was quite suddenly
aware of his full bladder.
“Of course. Please, carry on. Don’t
mind me.” He gulped loudly. “Only, we
close in ten minutes, so please hurry.
Thank you.”
Mr. Bear poked around the shelves
aimlessly for a bit; he finally grabbed
the biggest honey jar he could find. In
his hand, the glass quart of amber liquid
looked like a shot glass. He brought it to
the counter and set it down. The pig lifted
it to check the price tag on the bottom.
“$3.69, please.”
“I don’t have that,” Mr. Bear said. “I
have thirty-four cents.”
He pulled the coins from his buckskin
vest pocket and set them next to
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