Aziraphale sighed. He’d been plagued with an overabundance of customers that day so far—three, possibly a new record. In the end he’d had to create some blinds to be pulled down and bring out the sign that said Gone to Bank—Back In 5! for the door. He wasn’t in a mood to actively chase the poor dears away; there was a box of new acquisitions waiting to be opened, full of mystery, mold and dead moths.
He towed it out now and thumped it—carefully—on top of the counter.