Valentines Day (Middle February)
It’s the feast day of Saint Valentine, patron of beekeepers and epileptics. Light of early springtide blesses the commercial districts of the city. Chivalric accoutrements grace the shop windows, tokens of nature naturing, paper hearts and paper rabbits, ruddy cherubs nocking arrows. These fat little baby angel men spread love wherever they can. They move faster than the eye can see—(necessary)—they draw their bows both true and slow. They take pride in their trade. The backlog is immense. Management has been inept at retention. But everyone who truly asks for true love will receive it, eventually. And the waitlist comes with a free newsletter and discount codes, perfect for treating yourself as well as others.
Meanwhile, those who have love have support. The frozen yogurt stand makes it known that yours is valid—your particular flavor, as they say. The stationary and letterpress boutique makes it known; the commercial real estate office makes it known; the perpetual candidate for municipal office makes it known. Regardless of the situation, with or without love—or rather, with love eventually, the businesses of the commercial district see you. They recognize your human need. Everyone who truly asks for true love will receive it, eventually. Angelic helpers, though backlogged, have nevertheless been dispatched to your location. Rely on them.
