It wasn’t entirely fair to blame the mustache-twirling shopkeeper for his attitude.
On this particular stretch of antique street, behavior followed a quiet, unspoken rule—everyone sized up the customer before deciding how to speak, how much effort to invest, and whether the interaction was even worth their time. It wasn’t written anywhere, yet every merchant adhered to it as if it were sacred doctrine.
There were, broadly speaking, only two types of customers who truly mattered.
The first were familiar faces—regulars who came often, people whose tastes, spending habits, and bargaining styles were already well understood. These were the dependable ones, the kind that made business predictable.
The second were the obviously wealthy—those who didn’t need to say a word before their status
