Post by mikhail on Feb 24, 2012 23:33:06 GMT -5
Mikhail's first week of classes was over. Most of his belongings had finally been shipped over and he could rest easy knowing his good-for-nothing mother couldn't sell them. However something was missing, it didn't strike him for a while but... yes, that was it, a watch handed down to him from his father and his father's father. He never thought much of it back home, it was fairly plain, but made of sterling silver, he suspected his mother had pawned it off. Although the watch didn't hold any particular sentimental value to him (because he never met his father) he did use it quite often and its constant tick-tocking was like a lullaby.
Mikhail had been strolling along the shopping district, window shopping as he sometimes did, and came across a shop called "The Clock Tower," appropriately enough built into a clock tower, the windows were full of watches and clocks and brass baubles and the constant ticking of all the gears. Mikhail took what little money he had out of his pocket, not even 10 dollars, and frowned. There was no way he could afford a watch for 10 dollars... still. He entered the shop to a soft "clink-a-link" as the little bell above the door chimed.
There was no one at the counter when he walked in. In fact the store seemed almost abandoned except for its stalwart and ever patient tenants, endless counting out the seconds. Mikhail took a look around, appreciated the craftsmanship of the clocks and watches, he had noticed since coming to America that so many goods were not hand made and it disappointed him so. He looked at the pocket watches for a long while in the lonesome store surveying them and listening intently to the sort of tick and tock they made.
He hadn't found one that was quite right, but he was confident a craftsman of such caliber could make a watch just as good, no better, than the old watch his father had given him. He went to the counter and rang the little bell there and waited patiently for someone to answer.
Mikhail had been strolling along the shopping district, window shopping as he sometimes did, and came across a shop called "The Clock Tower," appropriately enough built into a clock tower, the windows were full of watches and clocks and brass baubles and the constant ticking of all the gears. Mikhail took what little money he had out of his pocket, not even 10 dollars, and frowned. There was no way he could afford a watch for 10 dollars... still. He entered the shop to a soft "clink-a-link" as the little bell above the door chimed.
There was no one at the counter when he walked in. In fact the store seemed almost abandoned except for its stalwart and ever patient tenants, endless counting out the seconds. Mikhail took a look around, appreciated the craftsmanship of the clocks and watches, he had noticed since coming to America that so many goods were not hand made and it disappointed him so. He looked at the pocket watches for a long while in the lonesome store surveying them and listening intently to the sort of tick and tock they made.
He hadn't found one that was quite right, but he was confident a craftsman of such caliber could make a watch just as good, no better, than the old watch his father had given him. He went to the counter and rang the little bell there and waited patiently for someone to answer.