The tiny museum had been selected for a royal visit. “Your name was drawn from the hat,” quivered a royal equerry, “It’ll be next Friday.”
Quite frankly, owner/manager/curator Frank Robson couldn’t be arsed – after all, he was a republican at heart and anyway, Friday was a golf day for him. But the mayor called in, all chain bedecked, as did the president of the chamber of commerce, and the mitred bishop, and between them they said it’ll be good for the town, good for business, good for the soul.
So he opened up. Let her in. Bent his knee.
This was for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneer’s 100 word challenge. Can you do it?