“It’s perfect, don’t you think?” Oliver asked Dan.
“I don’t know, Ollie,” Dan answered. “It looks kinda ramshackle to me.”
“Nothing a little spit and polish won’t take care of,” Oliver said. “Just imagine, Dan. A bunch of picnic tables in front and on one side. People coming from miles around to buy fresh, juicy, raw oysters by the bucket. Hell, Dan, we wouldn’t even have to shuck ‘em. We can lend patrons shucking knives and rubber gloves and they can shuck their own oysters.”
“But maybe some people won’t wanna shuck them themselves,” Dan said.
“Fine, we can charge fifty cents a bucket extra to shuck the oysters for them,” Oliver said.
“I don’t know, Ollie,” Dan said.
“C’mon, man,” Oliver said. “Can’t you see it? We can call it Ollie’s Oyster Shack.”
Dan screwed up his face. “Why not Dan’s Oyster Shack?”
“Okay,” Oliver said. “We’re partners, right? We’ll call it Dan and Ollie’s Shuck Stop.”
“Hey, I like that,” Dan said, a large grin lighting up his face.
“Woo hoo,” shouted Oliver.
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers from Priceless Joy. Photo credit: Yinglan.