It only sells one type of candy at a time. The sign doesn't have the store name, but rather today's candy: today it's "Courage Candy," tomorrow it might be "Resting Candy," depending entirely on what kind of sweet the owner is currently lacking.
And you're not allowed to take more than one; one at a time. There are no staff, only a wooden sign: Candy, Self-service, One piece. The reasoning is—sweetness is sweeter when used sparingly.
I spent three nights piecing it together. Each piece of wood aligned like a lesson I hadn't learned as a child: not to eat all the sweetness at once. The day I finished, I put one candy in the jar, unable to bear touching it. Then it suddenly dawned on me: this store doesn't actually sell candy; it stores sweetness for people.
With enough stored, even the hardest times won't be a problem.
