It's a mystery to the universe why genies (djinni, whatever) get caught in bottles, compasses, and lamps. Maybe it's some kind of magpie reflex; they just cannot help it. Whatever, I'm just glad they've got it. Who couldn't use three nearly limitless wishes? I know I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the hell out of it that's for certain.
My name is Ambrose, and if you're laughing right now you understand half my problem. I never thought I was terrible looking, but I sure was socially awkward. I was tall, lanky, skinny as a rail really. Girls might as well have been the Holy Grail for all it mattered. I tried to swim and exercise, and live my life with the general philosophy that it wasn't terrible to try and better yourself. I always tried to dress my best, but I think it was some rather nerdy hobbies that kept me out of various girls' pants. As it turns out good things come to those who wait.
I was perusing a pawn shop looking for something historical; it's one of my things. I like anything older than the 21st Century. There wasn't much to do in the small hot sub-desert town I lived in. We had one pizza shop, a Wal-Mart, two gas stations, and one really nice comic book store. They were building some kind of video game retailer next to it. And now you know why I like to swim.
The cool dimness of the pawnshop was welcome. The day outside hadn't even reached noon and it was already unbearable. I passed some girls in really tight shorts and tank tops on the way here, as if I wasn't uncomfortable enough with the heat. I spent thirty minutes scanning the rows of crap and bric-a-brac . Then I saw it: A little wooden box. It looked as though it had once been lacquered and varnished. It was easy to tell that brass had once been inlayed, but it now stood woefully unadorned.
I opened it, inside as a little scene with a girl and a unicorn. It was an old music box most likely. I shut the lid. If I could get it for cheap maybe I could flip it on eBay or something. If not I'm sure it would come in handy as a gift for my mom or sister. The box was pretty rough but the mechanics of it looked intact.
I walked up to the counter and put It on the smudged glass top. "How much?" I asked.
"Fifty." He replied.
"Does it run?"
"Don't know."
"Fifteen."
"Twenty."
The man grunted an affirmative and I paid him the price. I guess I could have played it there, but a twenty-two-year-old guy winding music boxes in the street would have looked really stupid. So I headed home. I worked at the south-end gas station outside of town, and twenty bucks wasn't a really big hit, but I felt buyer's remorse almost instantaneously. Still, I walked back to my apartment. It was a shabby place, but well kept. It had working air, running water in hot and cold, and it was cheap.