feet up on the counter , she’s leaning all the way back in the chair . shocking to none , clara is at work . however , not necessarily working . she’s flipping through a magazine and picking at a salad . the afternoon light enters through the shop windows , catching dust mites in its rays . the room is stuffy , reeking of incense and patchouli . when someone enters , and the little bell chimes , her attention is barely pulled . she doesn’t even look up . ❝ we’re closed . ❞ they weren’t . the sign on the front said they closed in seven hours . she just didn’t have the energy .
