A Toy's Tale

The air in the Evergreen Toy Co. workshop was thick with the scent of sawdust and something else, something Claire’s meticulously calibrated nose couldn't quite identify. It wasn’t the sterile, ozone-tinged cleanliness of her Manhattan office, nor the generic, sickly sweet perfume of cheap department stores. This was… warm. And a little bit dusty. She wrinkled her nose, a minuscule gesture that nonetheless felt like a seismic shift on her usually impassive face.

Ben, bless his perpetually rumpled sweater, was oblivious. He was holding up a wooden train, its wheels worn smooth, its red paint chipped in a way that spoke of countless imaginary journeys. “This,” he announced, his voice ringing with a reverence that Claire found baffling, “is the Evergreen Express. My grandfather’s first design.”

Claire eyed the train. It was… a train. Wooden. Red. Clearly handmade, with the charming imperfections that screamed ‘not mass-produced.’ “It’s a toy,” she stated, her tone flat. “A rather… dated one, wouldn’t you say?”