Doodles and Crap

That's what he says to all who enter. And it's true.

He has seen it all.

He's seen humanoid octopuses on a honeymoon, a group of traveling harpy musicians, a team of mages and warlocks coming in for a place to sleep after a field trip, a herd of unicorns....

Everything.

So much so that he just started Journaling it all. Every last experience. And he tells his favorites to all who ask.

"Do you have any stories?" A small child or elderly patron will ask.

"Quite a bit. I've got some in this journal here." The innkeeper would respond.

"Can you read me some?"

And so he would. Sometimes, he'd tell daring stories of weary travelers getting attacked by a gigantic monster or of a duel between two super heroes who have beef with each other. Younger kids loved these stories the most, always saying "Yes, and?" to see what happened next.

But other times, he'd tell other stories. Stories that didn't have fights, battles, or any of that sort. Sometimes, he'd tell his favorites.

These stories were more slice of life, more wholesome than those action ones. He'd tell them to elderly and older folk, looking for a calm tale, along with teenagers and college age adults. These stories would consist of sweet stuff, like a group of elderly friends celebrating on their birthdays, or a couple in their mid-30s on their honeymoon. Family vacations, dads hanging out with their kids, bakers and chefs giggling about a food convention.

‘The answer to this is very simple. It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought ‘42 will do’. I typed it out. End of story.’