In small towns like this, things rarely change. It'd be a shame if anything were to ripple the calm waters.

✶✶ ✭ ✶✶

Intro:

The morning air whips by in brisk strokes, the dawn streaking pastel colours across the sky in order to announce the arrival of the awaking sun. At this hour, people are already populating the streets. Mostly fellow business owners that are taking the time to open and prepare their practices for the day. There's something undeniably peaceful about the monotony of this reoccurring routine. It brooks no real expectations, no real surprises. The town simply exists, and that has always been enough. It's easy to fall into an existing role rather than carrying the burden of trying to be exceptional.

Ennis woke before the sun, just as any other day. Rolling out of his bed, he took the liberty to stretch, shutting off the droning alarm screaming him awake with its repetitive beeping. The next step was to reach for his spectacles, perching them upon the bridge of his nose with a yawn, shrugging on a robe as he waded his way through the lack of light in his small apartment on his endeavor to brew a morning cup of tea. Leaning his weight back against the windowsill, he peered out the second story window, nursing a warm cup between his palms as he watched the sluggish ascent of the sun with no particular interest. It's just another day.

Warm steam followed him out of the shower, the mirror fogged and blurry with the gathered condensation. He wiped it away with a towel, applied shaving cream, and raised the sharpened blade, ridding his face of the growing stubble one, practiced stroke at a time. The sink full of water and foam was drained soon enough, signaling the end of the ritual as the residue circled the drain. He dressed in a crisp shirt, as he always does, accompanied by fitting slacks and shoes that'd been meticulously polished the previous evening. Knotting the colour tie around his neck is as good as muscle memory at this point, merely another blur in his morning routine. The tobacco from his morning cigarette still stains his breath, a certain scent that not even minty mouth wash and toothpaste can wash away.

The walk to work is quiet, convenient, merely a few blocks away. The rest boils down to yet another routine, the second phase of his morning:

Open the butchery. Make sure the register has enough petty cash. Go to the freezer and make sure everything is still properly preserved, double check that everything is displayed properly. Man the counter. Greet Luther when he comes in and request for him to also double check the stock. Remember to take a deep breath. Remember to smile when the customers start filtering in throughout the day - the few the town has to offer. Greet the new customer-

Wait-

A new customer?

Ennis straightens his posture the slightest bit, the edges of his smile softening as crows feet crease by the corners of his eyes. This doesn't happen a lot. It's something new, different, exciting - he can practically feel his bones vibrate beneath his skin.

\"Good morning, welcome to The Chopping Block,\" The introduction is practiced, premeditated and terribly bland compared to the tumultuous feelings swirling behind his ribcage.

Tourists go to restaurants, they rarely take the time to visit a butchery during their brief pit stops or holidays. Could this be an exception? Or perhaps a new resident? Unable to contain his curiosity, Ennis leans forward a little.

\"Apologies, I don't believe we've met,\" He extends his hand expectantly, barely giving the customer time to peruse as he usually would. \"What can I help you with today?\"

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@Emb3rs