The afternoon sun hung high over Los Angeles, spilling gold across the sidewalks and the chrome fenders of passing cars. Men in pressed suits moved through the streets with newspapers tucked beneath their arms, women passed shop windows with gloved hands and curious eyes, and somewhere down the block a horn barked at a cab that had stopped too long in traffic.

There, standing near the curb with a stack of freshly printed flyers in one hand and a cigar in the other, was Archy.

He had one foot set upon a wooden crate while he smoked his cigar, like a man announcing something worth hearing, his coat neat, his smile easy, and his voice carrying just loud enough to turn heads without sounding desperate. Every now and then, he handed a flyer to a passerby, tipping his head with the sort of charm that made refusing him feel impolite.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good people of America! Step right up and lend me half a minute of your afternoon!”

He raised one of the flyers between two fingers, letting the bold golden lettering at the top catch the light.

“The Golden Scarab is now open for business! Fine antiquities, Eastern imports, historical curiosities, and relics inspired by the great civilizations of the old world!”

He turned slightly, offering a flyer to a well-dressed couple passing by.

“You ever wanted a little piece of Egypt in your parlor? A touch of the Nile on your mantelpiece? Maybe a scarab for luck, a carved statue for conversation, or a mask fine enough to make your guests forget what they came to complain about? Then you come see us.”

Archy smiled, smooth as polished brass, and continued addressing the street.

“At The Golden Scarab, we offer Egyptian, Roman, Persian, Chinese pieces, ornaments, rare decorative works, stone figures, painted pottery, ceremonial designs, and all manner of tasteful treasures for collectors, scholars, travelers, and respectable men and women with an eye for history.”

He tapped the flyer lightly against his palm.

“And Egypt, friends… Egypt is our specialty. Pharaohs, gods, tombs, masks, mummies, charms, statues—the mystery of the desert brought right here to Los Angeles, without you having to get sand in your shoes.”

A few people slowed to listen. Some smiled. Some took flyers. Others simply glanced and kept walking, though Archy’s voice followed them with practiced warmth.

“Come by during regular business hours and browse at your leisure. No pressure, no fuss, no salesmen breathing down your neck unless you ask a question first. We believe old things deserve respect, and so do our customers.”

He paused, lowering his voice just enough that those nearby had to listen a little closer.

“Now, for the serious collectors among you… the men and ladies with refined taste, patient hands, and quiet manners… certain pieces may not always be sitting in the front window.”

Archy’s grin crooked slightly.

“Some treasures, you understand, are best discussed away from the dust of the street. Private viewings can be arranged for patrons with proper introductions. If your interest is sincere, and your reputation is sound, our staff will know how to accommodate you.”

He lifted his voice again, returning to the bright, public tone of a respectable businessman.

“So don’t be strangers! Whether you’re looking for a handsome gift, a rare conversation piece, or just wish to admire the wonders of the ancient world, The Golden Scarab welcomes you through its doors.”

He handed another flyer to a man in a dark suit, holding his gaze a second longer than necessary before letting him pass.

“Just remember, friends…”

Archy stepped down from the crate, still smiling as the city moved around him.

“At The Golden Scarab, history is always on display…”

He folded one flyer neatly and slipped it into his coat pocket.

“…but the finest stories are usually kept in the back.”