There is a man in what might be a cowboy hat and a cravat in the museum.

He seems cut off from time. I've never seen him outside the museum except at different rituals... I mean festivals, despite how keen he is on collecting what are mostly odd bits of rubbish and strange rocks.

If he really wants this collection to grow, why doesn't he go looking himself? Why am I the only one who adds to his little collection of gems and bones? Can anyone else see him, hovering behind the desk? What are the gloves, the wide brimmed hat, and the glasses meant to conceal? I swear I can feel his gaze through the hat brim sometimes.

What are they for? They don't seem to have any use except for bringing the strangest objects out from under the desk.

What's so special about a rusty spoon?

Unlike my fruit snack-like overlords he never requests anything from the sea. Is that because he already knows all he wants to?

He carries the tang of the sea with him. It is a soft, wistful scent, not like the reek of the midnight jellies and their affiliates. I find I like the man, at least enough to dig up worms and root through trash cans for him. Who am I to say that a small chicken statue shouldn't bring him joy? He seems sadder on days when it rains. Does it remind him of his birthplace? His deathplace? Perhaps both? It is still good to make him smile on a rainy day with another sample of shale or an ancient doll.

Willy lurks outside the museum sometimes with his shifting eyes, but I have never seen him enter. I have never dared mention why I sometimes throw away a fish that crowds my bag yet keep the small, useless trinket that comes with it. Perhaps it is best that way.

Most people still haven't forgiven me for mentioning the fruit snacks.