Since graduating belatedly from Hogwarts, Anthony felt like his life had hit a rough patch. Or, using a more interesting metaphor, had shot off like a Nimbus only to end in a tragic crash that not only splintered a tree, but completely ruined the broomstick from having a normal, happy life as an Auror. Then again, maybe he was being dramatic. He sure as hell felt like he had every reason to be pouty. His sister was barely fourteen, and with what little inheritance money he had received on his birthday, it seemed like he would have to hold a steady job until she graduated. Training wasn't an option, because it didn't pay.
Shite. His life was shite. Not to mention, he sold quills and parchment, which topped it all off with more shite.
Hardly anyone was in the store, so Anthony had been busying himself the best way he knew how. By organizing merchandise right down to name, color, and laydown date. It was easier to pass the time when he kept himself distracted. Staring at his watch for another was out of the question.
His uniform, sadly, was probably more expensive than what he usually wore. Khaki slacks and a nice black sweater distracted from the garish name tag pinned meticulously to the front of his shirt. It flashed his name, first and last, so everyone would be sure to know that not only was he an employee, but that this Ravenclaw prefect had no direction and no future, either.
With a dismal grunt, Anthony began to even out a stack of handmade stationary kits. Bollocks.