Here is a Bolton-based threefold story.
The Lemonade Stand
It was a hot summer’s day. In a farmer’s market placed awkwardly in a public parking lot there was a popular lemonade stand attached to the spot where honey was sold. One of the very few lineups of that day was at the stand. The other merchants looked perhaps a little envious, eying longingly at the business the young lad was doing. But that look was going to change in not too long a time.
It was a hot summer’s day. In a farmer’s market plopped into a public parking lot there was a popular lemonade stand attached to the spot where honey was sold. The cold lemonade exercised a strong draw on the small sweating crowd that walked past the young lad’s stand, some to lineup in anticipation of a cool treat..
The father selling honey beside his son was glad to see the boy’s success. The sweetener used in the lemonade was some of the special honey that came from his new hive. He was glad to see that people were quite literally drinking it up. Maybe that would attract them to the amber jars that were yet unsold.
At the far end of the market a teenage girl was playing music from a thin book of light tunes, providing a barely audible background for the people milling about. That would change soon
It was a hot summer’s day. In the parking lot market the main attraction seemed to be a young lad’s lemonade stand. He was kept perpetually busy filling up paper cups in light summery cups, giving a much appreciated cool break to the people whose temperatures were rising due to the humid air and the heat rising almost like steam from the tar-based paving.
Not much was sold for the first while, but the mood of the people was appreciably beginning to change. Those with ready cash were particularly attracted by the homemade brownies and other sweet treats that had been earlier ignored. But now everything was selling.
A young girl playing ‘light favourites’ from a thin music book in front of her found that a number of people were beginning to gather around her, swaying, almost dancing to the tunes that she was playing. She felt and looked awkward with her newfound popularity.
The honey man whose son was doing such a brisk business found that he had a ready audience for his stories about his expansion of his hives to a new territory, beside a field of tall plants the height of corn, but looking a lot different. His customers stared at the honey on his table as he spoke, almost mesmerized.
“Yes, I expanded my hives to that newly-opened field on the fifteen concession. The honey produced by my bees there is of a different colour, but people really seem to like it.” A couple who had about a half an hour earlier gulped down their lemonade, walked almost skipped away from the honey table, sticking their fingers into the just opened jar. The man said to the woman, “The fifteenth concession. Isn’t that where that new medical marijuana grow-op has begun to grow its first crop?”