The sunset bathes the country road in golden light as Artie’s wooden cart rumbles along, drawn by a single dappled pony. Artie himself was at the helm, the reins laid in his lap. He and his pony had made this trip from Sunset City to Orchardville since Artie was a small boy. Now, here he was, pushing 60, still carting his wares around. He leaned back to check on his work: his wooden trinkets, his mechanical gizmos, and of course, his dolls. Wooden, porcelain and plastic. They were his pride and joy. Content that they were still secured, he turned back around to face the road ahead.