Gram had never noticed this kiosk before. It was stark white, with a tiny placard bearing the word KIOSK. Curious, he stopped in front of it.
“Nghah!” said the woman at the kiosk, startled at Gram’s sudden presence. “Frghsh!” snorted Gram, startled not only by her own sudden appearance, but at her appearance in general.
She was exactly counter-height, with a straight bowl haircut. She wore a white lab coat and no makeup save for highly outlined eyebrows, making her look perpetually surprised. Her left incisor protruded two inches over her closed mouth, such that it resembled a small tusk.
They looked at each other a moment.
“Uh…” began Gram, as she kept staring. “I just sort of noticed the sign here and wondered–“
“We sell dreams,” she interrupted impatiently. “First one’s free. Here.” And before he could protest, she grabbed his hand.
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Instantly, he was transported to a field of yellow flowers, where he was running, jumping, laughing naked, hand in hand with his lover, the woman from the kiosk, smiling her disturbingly tusky smile, as she moved in tuskingly for a kiss.
“GAH!” said Gram, coming out of the dream, pulling his hand back with a gasp.
“How many you want?” she asked.
Gram ran away quickly, and “Tusky” – as he would call her when retelling the story – knew her brand was an acquired taste, but she hoped it would catch on soon; Eaton Centre kiosks were expensive.
