Dear Diary,
I finally feel the weight lifting off of my shoulders, the weight of hundreds of magi expectently waiting at my cart at the start of every full moon. Every full moon they come. EVERY full moon. I hear them speculate as I sit in the safety of my cart, frantically sorting my wares. I work so hard to gather these items. Am I a bad person? Is it the karma of my illegal activities that makes them turn on me the moment I open my door? Why do they yell and scream that what I have is not enough? I risk my life for these items. While I'm no philanthropist, I do think my prices are suitable for the risks I take to procure them. While my variety is small, where else can these ingrates find such treasures?
No matter, I am feeling much rested now. I have to thank my friends for making this all possible. My dear Adela for braving the angry magi hordes that are my would-be customers. Remy for making off-season cocktails and allowing delivery (and those two goons for dropping them off). My dear artificer for creating a wonderful machine. Diary, did you know that you can blend ice into cocktails to make them even more magical (the copious alcohol helps me feel magical anyway)? This prototype needs a name, maybe call it a blender? Is it rude to name someone else's invention?
Of course none of this would be possible without the best tool of all, the lock on my cart. Without it they would surely know I've been hiding in here all this time.
Yes, I feel rested, it might be time to put this vacation to an end.
Love,
Alethin
P.S.- Next time I should stockpile more food, I ate half of the eggs I was meant to sell...
