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“What’s your name, handsome? I’m Madge.”

Was she talking to me? I thought she was looking at the pharmacist. But now the pharmacist is looking at me with raised eyebrows, triangle complete. She’s talking to you! he prompted. Because of course she’d already probably know the pharmacist’s name, both being residents of this here Newtown in all likelihood.

I thought quick. I didn’t want to say my name was Newt because that was the same as the sim, and then I’d have to go down that rabbit hole why they were the same and how I got my name from the sim, yada yada yada. So I made up one on the spot. Looking at the cash register in front of me, it all came together.

“Mark,” I said. “Mark, er, Pfennig.” Born January 1st, 1963 but I left that part out for her. The pharmacist eyed me suspiciously but said nothing. I think he might have even winked at me; yeah, let’s go with that.

“Mark. What a beautiful name,” she cooed, striking yet another provocative pose. The pharmacist rolled his eyes a bit here, let’s say.

“Madge is nice too,” I thought to reply back, not wanting to seem *too* rude. But of course I had no interest of that type in this woman. I have to be 5 years younger than you! (he thought vainly). And look 15 years younger (he kept going down that road).

“Why thank you, sweetie.” She then held out an arched hand palm down, apparently for me to either hold or maybe even kiss. Is this some kind of German custom I wasn’t aware of? I took the hand and shook it. Her face expressed disappointment, insult even. “Humph,” she uttered, her whole arm going limp, hand sliding out of my grasp.

Co-pharmacist or perhaps pharmacist assistant Gerald (Geralt?) comes to the counter with a prepared bag. Stephan (pharmacist at the counter) slid it toward Madge. “Here’s your, um, *soda*, dear.”

“Soda, yes,” she said, grabbing it with the same hand I tried to shake and then giving me a look that told me this wasn’t in any way soda. “Owl’s beaks,” she whispered to me while pivoting from the counter. “For the nighttimesss,” she hissed, then locked onto my eyes for a second while tilting her head before moving toward the door, old yet still effective hips in full swing. I couldn’t help marvel at the scene.

“So what can I do you for?” asked Stephan. “The same?”

“Yeah,” I admitted when finally turning around.

(to be continued)