floating in a tin can

The thing Wolfgang likes the most about their shop is that the back room is huge. The place used to be a bakery, though it's been gutted of most of the equipment — no industrial oven or refrigerator, which is a bummer because Wolfgang would have loved either. Still, they have a lot of space to live in. They've got a cot with a sleeping bag; a microwave, hot plate, and electric kettle; a miniature refrigerator; two sinks, and the one in back is deep enough that they can bathe out of it and wash their hair; and a small bathroom.

There might be some kind of law against living in the same place you're using as a business. It's not zoned for residential use, or something. Maybe? Maybe. So they try not to make it so obvious they live here; no one gets to go in the back.

They've settled in quite well, though. That things are looking up makes them nervous, they're always waiting for something disastrous to happen, something they'll have to flee from again. There have been a few near misses. But as long as they keep churning out helpful little charms and potions and amulets, few people care too much to look deeply at the rest of it. The occasional thrown bricks and spraypainted graffiti clearly come from outside the community. It's just a lot of nonsense about satanism and devil-worshipping blah blah.

As usual they can be found inside, seated on a stool behind one of the counters, working on a project. Their legs are bent, one foot on the seat, head bent over their task. Today they've got their jewelry making tools spread out around them, gazing through the lens of a magnifier anchored to the counter as they fiddle with something small and delicate and silver. A woman, a Professional, someone with the money and status to not have to live here, asked for a piece of jewelry that looks a little more inconspicuous — like something you'd get from Macy's, not Etsy — so it's taking more time than usual.

Also as usual, it's quiet in here, most of the noise from the busy streets outside cut off at the door except for quiet music. (It doesn't take long for most people to get the impression that Wolfgang is kind of a hipster; today it's Neutral Milk Hotel.) Smells good, too. Like milk and honey. Wolfgang is so absorbed in their task that they almost miss the bells jingling when the door opens, and they don't raise their head for a long time. “One minute.”