After turning on the battery, then the seven lights, Diggery unlocked all the locks on his door gate: the top pink fuzzy padlock, the next fingerprint lock that looked like a retina lock, the next combination lock, the first gold deadbolt, the second gold deadbolt, the retina lock that looked like a padlock, the tiny lock he got off some little girl’s diary, and he cut the zip tie at the bottom. He rolled the gate away from the door and turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN, just above the hand-scrawled DIGGERY’S DIGS sign.
Before he could close the inner door, that really annoying scruffy mutt Bobo scooted in. That dog brought in so much dust, it glowed in the morning sun coming in the front door.
“Dammit Bobo. Out. Get out.” That dog always made a mess of his store.
“Aw, I’m coming to get her,” yelled the mutt’s scruffy owner, Shax.
He came in once a week to sell stuff to Diggery. He always wore that homemade respirator, duct taped together pieces that didn’t look like they kept anything out of his lungs. He clipped a leash on the dog.
“Whatcha got today, Shax? Last week’s stuff is still here. No one’s come in for a couple of days.”
“You’ll love this.”
Out of his long grey coat inner pocket, he pulled a locket on a long gold chain. On close inspection, the front was intricately carved with three roses and a heart. Inside was an old black and white photo of two women. They looked like they were from a couple of centuries ago.
“It’s worth more melted down, Shax. Take it up the street.”
Shax snapped it out of Digg’s hands and put it in a different inner pocket.
“Guess I don’t know you well.”
“Guess you don’t know my customers.” Diggery tried to meet Shax’s eyes but he turned away and dragged a ragged cardboard box onto Digg’s counter, a long, old piece of plywood barely balanced on plastic crates.
He started to unload the box. “I got this glue gun, but no glue, a bag of screws of different sizes, three books I turned into wire bound notebooks, a dictionary, and a remote control, no batteries, and this CD player, with the plug and cord.”
Diggery looked at Shax, knowing he could not underbid for these goods. He had no idea where Shax lived, or where he got all this stuff.
“I’ll give you four cans of beans and half pound of rice.”
“Five cans, and a full pound. And a little dear meat for Bobo.”
The dog heard her name, and the word “meat” and started barking. Digg knew she wouldn’t stop until he gave her a little jerky. Digg broke a bit off of his own breakfast strip and gave it to the dog.
“There’s your meat, and,” he pulled a bag from behind him and filled it with beans and rice, “here’s your food. When will you be back?”
Shax said nothing and waved at Diggery on his way out the door with Bobo. "See you next week!" he yelled after Shax was out of sight.
