FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

There she was, in the bustling, crowded, noisy downtown of another American megalopolis. Particularly, she was standing on the sidewalk, having just stumbled upon a nice spot to get out of the endless flow of pedestrians back and forth from horizon to horizon, and staring over to the other side. The city itself felt like it had been purposefully modeled after an Orwellian dystopia; with its thick blanket of smog that blocked the sun from entrance, the smell of industry or gasoline or some other chemical wafting down every street and into the nose, and, as she had begun to notice, a heavy police presence was about the town and without fail, they were there.

Everywhere she had walked, she would see at least two policemen - armed just as heavily as they were armored in their foreboding SWAT apparel - walking down the street and eyeing every person there like a hawk with their visibly loaded shotguns and rifles. It was certainly strange, she thought, she didn’t come from a small town herself, but instead another big city. There, back home, no smog blocked the sun, no chemical smell floated throughout every little particle that was breathed in, and, most notably so, there was no armored patrol. It was a thought, definitely, about how just another big city ended up with such a different...aura, or a feeling. She felt rather safe when she saw a policeman back home, in car or alone, seeing them as a guardian of civility rather than whatever they were here. In the middle of this city (the name escaped her), with armored patrols all about, she couldn’t help but feel that in the eyes of authority thinking itself may be a crime. Or that she’d be taken down for being afraid when one got a bit too close to her--acting “suspicious” as they might call it to justify whatever they would do to her.

But, what she was seeing across the street brought her mind away from the monochromia of the city’s own design. Across a long, white crosswalk was a building that contrasted against the grey of elsewhere or the worn, faint red bricks of the older structures in the town. It was like a highlight on a long stretch of page in the way that, even if she were to try not to, she couldn’t avert her eyes. The building was even built differently, too, with its polished white and blue color schemed front, with its design that was unorthodox in sight of the rest, and with that smell… That smell! She could tell from where she stood that it was a sweets parlor of some sort, and that heavenly smell, it almost pulled her across the street in a sort of hypnotic trance.

Or, rather, it did.

Before she knew it, that aroma was pulling her across the crosswalk at the next chance, her steps brisk and intent, her nose pulling in as much of the scent as it could with each breath. She was sure that she looked strange to some bystanders, as a twenty-seven-year-old woman in a thick, sage green coat to combat the cold around her, practically running across the street. It wouldn’t surprise her if there were more than a few eyes watching her, and if she was lucky, only a minimal amount was the police. They probably thought she looked suspicious, how she ran without hesitation as soon as the cars had stopped, almost bumping past others moving across as well.

It was no matter, though, because she was there. It only took thirty seconds, and she was there at the doorsteps of that sweet smell. Right now it was mixed with the chemical odor of the city still, but at the doors, that sweet scent was stronger, and almost pushed back that industrial cloud to the monogamy of grey and synthetics behind her, with the armed police force thrown into the mix to keep it together. Yet, she could not see through the doors, nor the windows. They weren’t tinted terribly dark, no, but still, she was ignorant as to the world inside. At least, until she pushed herself past one of those doors.

Of course, without a second thought, she did exactly that.

The door swung open as smooth as a fine cream with the little push she gave it before stepping inside. She wasn’t even fully into the parlor of sorts when all those smells that had been leaking out before suddenly hit her in a tidal wave of pleasure. She could hardly identify them all! Cinnamon, butterscotch, melted chocolate, fresh sweet rolls, a baked cake, it all only became the more attractive as the sights filled her eyes: brightly lit by decorative light bulbs on the walls, shining enough to reflect its light off of the shiny lollipops, the stretched taffy of every color in the rainbow, wrapped homemade chocolate bars, little hard candies, cookies, fluffy loaves of cream-glazed breads of all colors, and baskets of jawbreakers lines the old-timey shelves of the room’s walls, stretching about fifteen feet back on both sides, and what had to be around seven feet tall of sweets of every color, kind, length, size, and creed. It was almost overwhelming, on top of all that, the floor itself was an orange wood that only complemented the smells and sights within. At the back of the room, just past a couple central sample tables was a plump, white-haired, short, rosy-cheeked old man leaning against the counter, just beside the cash register with a friendly smile on his face.

He did not speak yet, and instead gave her a friendly wave with a soft-hearted, quiet chuckle as he adjusted the messy black apron that hung down to his knees past his fat belly before turning around to tend to the couple of ovens behind him, checking on what was surely a cake or another batch of cookies. While he did that, she was wide-eyed and her jaw fell open as she browsed those shelves, occasionally standing up on her tippy toes to see into a higher basket to sate her child-like curiosity in such an idyllic candy store: filled with sweets, clean as a whistle, warm and cozy as home itself, and run by a friendly, Santa-like old fellow. She didn’t know where to start! Her original purpose for coming to the city was dashed when she had come across this--this was more important, she thought. She hadn’t felt like a child in years, youthful and full of energy and life, but this store invoked it almost immediately. It was strange to admit, but the first word that had come to her mind when she saw the old man and his rosy, chubby cheeks and his finely-kept white hair was “Grandpa.” Her grandfather had passed away before she graduated middle school, but… this man, he looked like him. Or at least, as sweet as him.

It was while she was browsing the other side of the shelves that he rose back up from his time working with the ovens and spoke to her, his voice soft and caring--it was the most caring thing she had heard since she arrived here:

“Afternoon! What brings you to the parlor, ma’am?” He had his hands crossed as he leaned against the clean, wooden counter. It was apparent that he was also polite, which she fully expected, but was refreshing nonetheless. “It’s not often that I get business from a grown man or woman alone; usually, they’re with their child, or it’s a young teen with extra spending money.”

“I could smell all this from across the street,” she couldn’t help but giggle. This place really did bring out that youth that was still inside her, even after her latest years had buried it deeper and deeper. “It was a nice change from the rest of the city.”

“Oh, I figured that’s what it was.” The old man gave a soft sigh as he adjusted his apron, tieing it a bit tighter around his back before leaning again. “The police have come here before and told me to, however, I can stop the smell from coming out. Says that some passer-bys have been ‘disturbed’ by the scent of all my candies and goods.”

She stopped for a second to look at him in disbelief. “‘Disturbed?’ You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish.” His brows fell a bit lower with a shake of his head. “It was about a month ago that they overturned most of these shelves. Had to bake and make for God knows how long to get it back into the stock you see now.”

She was about to respond before the man interrupted her: “Which, you can try out at those two center tables. Always a free sample for anyone who comes in.”

Samples, eh? She had figured that’s what those tables were for, but she didn’t want to assume, lest she accidentally get on this grandfatherly figure’s bad side and ruin the atmosphere of the place for herself. Following his words, she moved to the central table closest to the counter - about five feet away - and observed. On it was a small set of cookies, brownies, and candies that surely would melt in the mouth, ranging from blue to red to yellow to pink and back around again. The brownies looked as brownies should, no real difference there, but the cookies…

They looked as soft as she could imagine. As she went to pick one up, grabbing it with her fingers, she made little indentations on its fluffy form, pushing out one of the petite chocolate chips that dotted its surface and its inside. She looked back to the old shopkeep to be sure, who nodded to her again with a smile before she took a bite out of it.

The oven-baked dough was...was perfect! She tasted no hint of burning as what she bit out of it melted and fell apart in her mouth, the chocolate chips that came in the bite only adding to the soft, gentle flavor of the treat. It almost sent a shiver down her spine, just how soft and sweet the cookie was, but it certainly put a smile on the old man’s face behind her. He could tell that she was enjoying it, and it brought him a joy that was equal to or greater than her own, to see that a full grown woman like herself could enjoy a treat like that in this day and age, and to see that she enjoyed his homemade, oven-baked treat so much, rather than a store-bought dough round of mediocrity.

He didn’t even get the chance to joyfully ask what she thought of it before she took a small bag from the counter, and filled it with cookies from the closest shelf. The old man’s cheeks seemed to almost get rosier as he laughed, watching her fill the small bag up with those treats like she was a kid who had just gotten her allowance. In her bag had to be at least twenty of the fluffy treats when she returned to the counter, wasting no time to pull out her billfold.

The old man told her it’d be fifteen dollars for all that she got, but she got out a twenty and set it down on the counter for him to register in. She was on her way to the door when he realized the extra five dollars that he had been given. He called out to her as she put her hand on the door, thinking it was some sort of mistake. But in return, all he got was no apology or thanks for the notice of her extra cash given, but a simple, charming look with a wide smile of child-like joy before she continued on, letting the door simply come shut with a soft click behind her. Back in the store, as she walked down the sidewalk to get on track with her original intention, the old man practically jumped out of his moccasins, an enormous smile plastered on his face as he registered it in, pulled up a stool from his left, and sat down at the counter, once again fixating his eyes on the door, ready to welcome anyone and everyone who would ever come in.

It was about thirty feet down the street that she felt the chemical smells start to get to her again, all of the gasoline and synthetics producing a stale, virulent odor around her. But, she had her bag of cookies, and despite the looks she knew she got for it, she brought up the bag to her face and took in a deep breath of that delicious smell. Were she not afraid of the chemical smell around her ruining the taste of them if she were to bite, she would’ve simply popped one in, and enjoyed the odor away, repelling it with her bag of sweets and her aura of youthful jubilee.

But eating was for later, she decided. So, she was content with taking another deep smell as she descended down the next set of subway stairs, gently wiggled her way into the next train, and took a seat. She wasn’t too sure of how she originally ended up across the street from the old man and his Louvre of sweets galore, but… however it happened, she certainly wouldn’t mind it happening again after her bag of cookies was gone that night.