The sun peeked through the dusty window of Mr. Huang’s quirky little shop, casting playful shadows over jars of vibrant pickles lining the shelves. In the corner, Mr. Huang, a cheerful elder with a wild tuft of hair that looked like it had a life of its own, adjusted his spectacles with a thoughtful frown.
Barnaby "Barnacle Butt" Bartlett, a retired pickle-brine sommelier (yes, that's a real thing, in his world), hummed a jaunty sea shanty. He was stirring a vat of fermenting cucumbers. The air in his tiny, cluttered workshop was thick with the sharp, vinegary tang of dill and garlic. Outside, a gentle drizzle painted the cobblestone streets of Port Picklewick a glistening grey.
