You stroll into the China Towntown Ointment Emporium. Considering the crowds on the streets and in the other stores, you are both startled and relieved to find that you are the only shopper in the store. An ancient looking Chinese man looks up from paper, and says,"Welcome, welcome. Look around, we have ointments for everything that ails you, and things that don't too." He grins and turns back to read his Chinese language newspaper.
"Okay, if I set my bags here, while I shop," you ask.
"Sure, sure. Nobody ever steal anything from Old Man Ching," answered setting down his paper as you set down your bags. He picks up a leather clad cup and shakes it. The contents rattle around, and he spills it out on the counter in front of him. Instead of dice, black laquer wands spill out. He aligns the pattern that they make and smiles. "49th Hexagram, Changes," he mutters. Then he looks up and his eyes follow you around the shop.
You pick up an ornate red labeled black jar, and chuckle, "Real Tiger Balm?" you ask holding up the jar.
"Most definitely, Siegfried and Roy swear by my Tiger Balm," the man answered emphatically.
"Well, my muscles have been aching a bit since I started my new workout routine," you say as you set the jar down on the counter and make your purchase. The jar is surprisingly affordable, the old man gives you 19 ones in exchange for your 20. You wonder how he can afford to stay in business with so few customers and such low prices.
"Thank you, I'll be back," you promise as you take your plain brown paper bag along with your other purchases from the Ointment Shop.
The old man just waves until the bell on the door tinkles and then he replies softly so that only he can hear, "Oh, we'll see, we'll see." Then he chuckles and rubs his hands together in anticipation of the mayhem that's about to be unleashed.