Jake strolled along the pavement of the High Street, a wide avenue that lived up to the village name of Broadway. He wended his way past the honey-coloured stone buildings and thatched pubs, idly glancing in the windows until he reached an antique shop. There, a familiar sensation, a dull ache, appeared on his forehead, above and between his eyes. He had come to realise that this feeling of a ‘third eye’ was an indicator of psychic awareness and should not be ignored; this, together with a natural compulsion for looking at antiques meaning he simply couldn’t brush aside a visit, drove him to enter the shop.
“Good day, sir, can I be of assistance?” A well-spoken man in his fifties with the aged skin of a heavy smoker greeted him.
“I’d just like to look around if that’s alright?”
“Please
